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A  FEW  DAYS  IN  ATHENS 


THE  TRANSLATION 


A   GREEK   MANUSCRIPT 


DISCOVERED    IN   HERCULANEUM. 


BT 

FRANCES   WRIGHT, 

AUTHOR  OP 

'views   of  society  and   manners   in   AMERICA. 


" joining;  bliss  to  virtue,  the  glad  ease 

Of  Epicurus,  seldom  understood?' 


BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED   BY  J.    P.    MENDUM. 
1850. 


;^Y::\mL  V' 


Collesv 
Library 

PR 


TO 


JEREMY    BENTHAM, 


AS   A   TESTIMONY 

OF 

HER  ADMIRATION   OF   HIS   ENLIGHTENED   SENTIMENTS, 

VSEFUL  LABORS, 

AND  ACTIVE  PHILANTHROPY, 

AND  OF 
HER    GRATITUDE   FOR   HIS   FRIENDSHIP, 

THIS  WORK 

IS 

RESPECTFULLY   AND   AFFECTIONATELY 

INSCRIBED 

BT 

•  FRANCES   WRIGHT. 


London, 
March  12th,  1822. 


1158128 


/  ifr/: 


:  ,  .  .    I     .    ....  •     ..,  .   t.      T  •     '    ,     ; 


-!fi; 


TO  THE  READER. 


:'  .:■<    !•  -til  «')  ii-   .•'>« 
-■  -  -Xr:  .  :'.!^  v,!(  "to  S<!t,;!-f  v.i 

..lit  :    i-;,o'  -;.;  ■*■  ..v ,--..;'..•<•  •».!! 

That  I  may  not  obtain  credit  for  more  learning  thah 
I  possess,  I  beg  to  acknowledge  the  assistance  I  have 
received  in  my  version  of  the  curious  relict  of  antiquity 
now  oflFeredto  the  public  from  the  beautiful  Italian  MSS. 
of  the  erudite  Professor  of  Greek  in  the  university 
of  *****.  I  hesitate  to  designate  more  clearly  the 
illustrious  Hellenist  whose  labors  have  brought  to  light 
this  curious  fragment.  Since  the  establishment  of  the 
saintly  domination  of  the  Vandals  throughout  the  territo- 
ries of  the  rebellious  and  heterodox  Italy,  and  particu- 
larly in  consequence  of  the  ordinance  of  his  most  ortho- 
do*,  most  legitimate,  and  most  Austrian  majesty,  bear- 
ing that  his  dominions  being  in  want  of  good  subjects, 
his  colleges  kie  forbidden  to  send  forth  good  scholars,* 
it  has  become  necessary  for  the  gownsmen  of  the  classic 
peninsula  to  banish  all  profane  learning  from  their  lec- 
tures and  their  libraries,  and  to  evince  a  holy  abhorrence 


*/e  ne  veux  pas  de  savans  dans  mes  etata,  je  veux  de  bont 
sujets,  was  the  dictum  of  the  Austrian  Autocrat  to  an 
Italian  Professor. 


VI  TO   THE    READER. 

of  the  sciences  and  arts  which  they  erst  professed.  The 
list  of  the  class  books  now  employed  in  the  transalpine 
schools  is  exceedingly  curious ;  I  regret  that  I  have  mis- 
laid the  one  Icitely  supplied  to  me  by  an  illustrious  Ital- 
ian exile.  My  memory  recals  to  me  only  that,  in  the 
school  of  rhetoric,  the  orations  of  Cicero  are  superseded 
by  those  of  the  Marquis  of  Londonderry,  and  the  philip- 
pics of  Demosthenes  by  those  of  M.  de  Peyronnet ;  that 
the  professors  of  history  have  banished  the  decades  of 
Livy  for  the  Martyrs  of  Mons.  de  Chateaubriand ;  and 
that  the  students  of  Greek,  in  place  of  the  Odes  of  Pin- 
dar, and  the  retreat  of  the  ten  thousand  from  Cunaxa, 
construe  the  hexameters  of  the  Ejiglish  Laureate,  and 
the  advance  of  Louis  the  XVIII.  upon  Ghent.  In  this 
Btate  of  the  Italian  world  of  Letters,  it  is  not  surprising 
that  the  scholar,  to  whose  perseverauice,  ingenuity,  and 
learning,  the  public  are  indebted  for  the  following  frag- 
ment, should  object  to  lay  claim  to  the  honor  which  is 
his  due. 

The  original  MS.  fell  into  the  hands  of  my  erudite  cor- 
respondent in  the  autumn  of  the  year  1817,  From  that 
period  imtil  the  commencement  of  last  winter,  all  his 
leisure  hours  were  devoted  to  the  arduous  task  of  unroll- 
ing the  leaves,  and  decyphering  the  half  defaced  char- 
acters. The  imperfect  condition  of  the  MS.  soon  obliged 
him  to  forego  his  first  intention  of  transcribing  the  original 
•Greek ;  he  had  reeourse,  therefore,  to  an  Italian  version, 
supplying  the  chasms,  consisting  sometimes  of  a  word, 
sometimes  of  a  line,  and  occasionally  of  a  phrase,  with  a 


TO   THE   READER.  VU 

careful  and  laborious  study  of  the  context.  While  this 
version  was  printing  at  Florence,  a  MS.  copy  was  trans- 
mitted to  me  in  Paris,  with  a  request  that  I  would  forth- 
with see  it  translated  into  the  English  and  French  lan- 
guages. The  former  version  I  undertook  myself,  and 
can  assure  the  reader  that  it  possesses  the  merit  of  fidel- 
it}'.  The  first  erudite  translator  has  not  conceived  it 
necessary  to  encumber  the  volume  with  marginal  notes ; 
nor  have  I  found  either  the  inclination  or  the  ability  to 
supply  them.  Those  who  should  wish  to  refer  to  the 
allusions  scattered  through  the  old  classics  to  the  char- 
acters and  systems  here  treated  of,  will  find  much  assis- 
tance from  the  marginal  authorities  of  thp  eloquent  and 
ingenious  Bayle. 

I  have  only  to  add,  that  the  present  volume  comprises 
little  more  than  a  third  of  the  original  MS. ;  it  will  be 
sufficient,  however,  to  enable  the  public  to  form  an  esti- 
mate of  the  probable  value  of  the  whole. 


n/ 


.;;j  ;/.,Ti;  :i"X  or 


or  71; 

^4";  f  i  ^:^7'(    <  '    i»  ■'  /'    J  ;  i< 
-vw('>  -irf"  o?     si--;/-;     -ij 

--;..•'■. ,:  ■  • ,:  ■■■■■I  '■■■r-  :t.»  i 
s 


-..;  [I'm  n  :  .<]/.  ' .':; 


,  ■Mi;  'u^    ;.!>:;!.(  ;Ii...    .. 

.;:. ■_]!■.  ■  >  Si  hi:  :t 


(H 


A  FEW  DAYS  IN  ATHENS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


"Oh!  monstrous,"  cried  the  young  Theon, 
as  he  came  from  the  portico  of  Zeno.  "Ye 
Gods !  and  will  ye  suffer  your  names  to  be 
thus  blasphemed  1  Why  do  ye  not  strike  with 
thunder  the  actor  and  teacher  of  such  enormi- 
ties? What!  will  ye  suffer  our  youth,  and 
the  youth  of  after  ages,  to  be  seduced  by  this 
shameless  Gargettian  ?  Shall  the  Stoic  portico 
be  forsaken  for  the  garden  of  Epicurus  7  Mi- 
nerva, shield  thy  city !  Shut  the  ears  of  thy 
sons  against  the  voice  of  this  deceiver  !  " 

Thus  did  Theon  give  vent  to  the  indignation 
which  the  words  of  Timocrates  had  worked 
up  within  him.  Timocrates  had  been  a  disci- 
ple of  the  new  school;  but,  quarrelling  with 
his  master,  had  fled  to  the  followers  of  Zeno ; 
and  to  make  the  greater  merit  of  his  apostacy, 
and  better  to  gain  the  hearts  of  his  new  friends, 


10  A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS. 

poured  forth  daily  execrations  on  his  former 
teacher,  painting  him  and  his  disciples  in  the 
blackest  colors  of  deformity ;  revealing,  with 
a  countenance  distorted  as  with  horror,  and  a 
voice  hurried  and  suppressed  ^as  from  the  ag- 
onies of  dreadful  recollections,  the  secrets  of 
those  midnight  orgies,  where,  in  the  midst  of 
his  pupils,  the  philosopher  of  Gargettium  offi- 
ciated as  master  of.  the.  fipcursed  ceremonies 
of  riot  and  impiety. 

Full,  of  these  nocturnal  horrors  the  ypung 
Thebn  traversed  with  hasty  steps  the  streets  of 
Athens,  and,  issuing  from  the  city,  without  per- 
ceiving that  he  did;  so,  took  tlie  road  to  ihp 
Piraeus.  The  noise  of  the  harbor  roused  him 
to  recollection,  and  feeling  it  out  of  tune  with 
his  '  thoughts,  he  turned  up  the  more  peaceful 
banks  of  Cephisus,  and,  seating  himself  on  the 
stump  of  a  withered  olive,  his  feet  almost 
washed  by  the  water,  he  fell  back  again  into 
his  reverie.  How  long  he  had  sat  he  knew  not, 
when  the  sound  of  gently  approaching  foot- 
steps once  more  recalled  him.  He  turned  his 
head,  and,  after  a  'start  and  gaze  of  astonish- 
ment, bent  with  veneration  to  the  figure  before 
him.  It  was  of  the  middle  size,  and  robed  in 
white,  pure  as  the  vestments  of  the  Pythia, 
The  shape,  the  attitude,  the  foldings  of  the  gar- 
ment, were  such  as  the  chisel  of  Phidias  would 


have  given  to  the  God  of  Elocution.  The 
head  acccfrded  with  the  rest  of  the  figiire ;  it 
sat  upon  the  shoulders  with  a  grace  that  a 
painter  would  have  paused  to  contemplate  — ■ 
elevated,  yet  somewhat  inclining  forward,  as  if 
habituated  gently  to  seek  and  benevolently  to 
yield  attention.  The  face  a  poet  would  have 
gazed  upon,  and  thought  he  beheld  in  it  one  of 
the  images  of  his  fancy  embodied.  The  fea- 
tures were  not  cast  for  the  statuary;  they 
were  noble  but  not  regular.  Wisdom  beamed 
mildly  from  the  eye,  and  candor  was  on  the 
broad  forehead :  the  mouth  reposed  in  a  soft, 
almost  imperceptible  smile,  that  did  not  curl 
the  lips  or  disturb  the  cheeks,  and  was  seen 
only  in  the  serene  and  holy  benignity  that 
shone  over  the  whole  physiognomy :  It  was  a 
gleam  of  sunshine  sleeping  on  a  lucid  lake. 
The  first  lines  of  age  were  traced  on  the  brow 
and  round  the  chin,  but  so  gently  as  to  mellow 
rather  than  deepen  expression  :  the  hair  indeed 
seemed  prematurely  touched  by  time,  for  it  was 
of  a  pure  silver,  thrown  back  from  the  forehead, 
and  fringing  the  throat  behind  with  short 
curls.  He  received  benignly  the  salutation 
of  the  youth,  and  gently  with  his  hand  return- 
ing it —  "  Let  me  not  break  your  meditations ; 
I  would  rather  share  than  disturb  them."  If 
the  stranger's  appearance  had  enchanted  The- 


1^  A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

on,  his  voice  did  now  more  so :  never  had  a 
sound  so  sweet,  so  musical,  struck  upon  his  ear. 

"Surely  I  behold  and  hear  a  divinity  !  "  he 
cried,  stepping  backwards,  and  half  stooping 
his  knee  with  veneration. 

"From  the  groves  of  the  academy,  I  see," 
said  the  sage,  advancing  and  laying  his  hand 
on  the  youth's  shoulder. 

Theon  looked  up  with  a  modest  blush,  and 
encouraged  by  the  sweet  aspect  of  the  sage, 
replied,  "No;  from  the  Stoic  portico." 

"Ah!  I  had  not  thought  Zeno  could  send 
forth  such  a  dreamer.  You  are  in  a  good 
school,"  he  continued,  observing  the  youth 
confused  by  this  remark,  "a  school  of  real 
virtue;  and,  if  I  read  faces  well,  as  I  think  I 
do,  I  see  a  pupil  that  will  not  disgrace  its  doc- 
trines." 

Theon's  spirit  returned;  the  stranger  had 
that  look,  and  voice,  and  manner,  which  in- 
stantly give  security  to  the  timid,  and  draw 
love  from  the  feeling  heart.  "If  you  6e  man, 
you  exert  more  than  human  influence  over  the 
souls  of  your  fellows.  1  have  seen  you  but 
one  moment,  and  that  moment  has  laid  me 
at  your  feet." 

"Not  quite  so  low,  I  hope,"  returned  the 
sage  with  a  smile;  "1  had  always  rather  be 
the  companion  than  the  master." 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  13 

"Either,  both,"  said  the  eager  youth,  and 
seizing  the  half-extended  hand  of  the  sage, 
pressed  it  respectfully  to  his  lips. 

"  You  are  an  enthusiast,  1  see.  Beware,  my 
young  friend  !  such  as  you  must  be  the  best  or 
the  worst  of  men."  'm!:      :        '  ^  ^'.';;-' 

"Then,  had  1  you  for  a  ^uide,  I  should 
be  the  best." 

"  What !  do  you  a  stoic  ask  a  guide  ?  " 

"  I,  a  stoic !  Oh  !  would  1  were !  I  yet  stand 
but  on  the  threshhold  of  the  temple." 

"  But  standing  there  you  have  at  least  looked 
within  and  seen  the  glories,  and  will  not  that 
encourage  you  to  advance  1  Who  that  hath 
seen  virtue  doth  not  love  her,  and  pant  after 
her  possession?" 

"True,  true;  I  have  seen  virtue  in  her 
noblest  form — Alas!  so  noble,  that  my  eyes 
have  been  dazzled  by  the  contemplation.  I 
have  looked  upon  Zeno  with  admiration  and 
despair." 

"  Learn  rather  to  look  with  love.  He  who 
but  admires  virtue,  yields  her  but  half  her  due. 
She  asks  to  be  approached,  to  be  embraced  — 
not  with  fear,  but  with  confidence  —  not  with 
awe  but  with  rapture." 

"  Yet   who  can  gaze  on  Zeno  and  ever  hope 
to  rival  him?" 
[_"  You,  my  young  friend :     Why  should  you 


14  A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

not  1  You  have  innocence ;  you  have  sensibil- 
ity; you  have  enthusiasm;  you  have  ambi- 
tion —  With  what  better  promise  could  Zeno 
begin  his  career?  Courage!  courage!  my 
son ! "  stopping,  for  they  had  insensibly 
walked  towards  the  city  during  the  dialogue, 
and  laying  his  hand  on  Theon's  head,  "We 
want  but  the  will  to  be  as  great  as  Zeno." 

Theon  had  drawn  his  breath  for  a  sigh,  but 
his  action  and  the  look  that  accompanied  it, 
changed  the  sigh  to  a  smile.  "  You  would 
make  me  vain." 

"  No ;  but  I  would  make  you  confident. 
Without  confidence  Homer  had  never  written 
his  Iliad  —  No  ;  nor  would  Zeno  now  be  wor- 
shipped in  his  portico." 

"Do  you  then  think  confidence  would  make 
all  men  Homers  and  Zenos7" 

"Not  all;  but  a  good  many.  I  believe 
thousands  to  have  the  seeds  of  excellence  in 
them,  who  never  discover  the  possession.  But 
we  were  not  speaking  of  poetry  and  philosophy, 

Conly  of  virtue  —  all  men  certainly  cannot  be 
poets  or  philosophers,  but  all  men  may  be 
virtuous." 

"I  believe,"  returned  the  youth  with  a 
modest  blush,  "if  I  might  walk  with  you 
each  day  on  the  boarders  of  Cephisus,  I 
should   sometimes  play  truant  at  the  portico." 


A    FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  15 

'*'Ye  gods  forbid  (exclaimed  the  sage  play- 
fully) that  I  should  steal  a  proselyte !  From 
2ien6  too  ?  It  might  cost  me  dear. —  What  are 
you  thinking  of  7  "  he  resumed,  after  a  pause: 

"  I  was  thinking,"  replied  Theon,  "  what  a 
loss  for  man  that  you  are  not  teacher  in  the 
gardens  in  place  of  the  son  of  Neocles." 

"  Do  you  know  the  son  of  Neocles  ?  "  asked 
the  sage. 

"  The  gods  forbid  that  I  should  know  him 
more  than  by  report !  No,  venerable  stran- 
ger ;  wrong  me  not  so  much  as  to  think  I  have 
entered  the  gardens  of  Epicurus.  It  is  not 
long  that  I  have  been  in  Athens,  but  I  hope,  if 
I  should  henceforth  live  my  life  here,  I  should 
never  be  seduced  by  the  advocate  of  vice." 

"  From  my  soul  I  hope  the  same.  But 
you  say  you  have  not  long  been  in  Athens 
—  You  are  come  here  to  study  philosophy." 

"Yes;  my  father  was  a  scholar  of  Xeno- 
crates ;  but  when  he  sent  me  from  Corinth,  he 
bade  me  attend  all  the  schools,  and  fix  with 
that  which  should  give  me  the  highest  views 
of  virtue." 

"And  you  have  found  it  to  be  that  of 
Zeno." 

"  I  think  I  have :  but  I  was  one  day  nearly 
gained   by  a  young  Pythagoreari)   and  have 


16  A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS. 

been  often  in  danger  of  becoming  one  of  the 
academy." 

"  You  need  not  say  in  danger :  For  though  I 
think  you  choose  well  in  standing  mainly  by 
Zeno,  I  would  have  you  attend  all  the  schools, 
and  that  with  a  willing  ear.  There  is  some 
risk  in  following  one  particular  sect,  even  the 
most  perfect,  lest  the  mind  become  warped  and 
the  heart  contracted.  Yes,  young  man !  it  is 
possible  that  this  should  happen  even  in  the 
portico.  No  sect  without  its  prejudices  and  its 
predilections." 

''I  believe  you  say  true." 

"I  know  I  say  true,"  returned  the  sage  in  a 
tone  of  playfulness  he  had  more  than  once 
used*  "  I  know  I  say  true;  and  had  I  before 
needed  evidence  to  confirm  my  opinion,  this  our 
present  conversation  would  have  afforded  it." 

"How  so?" 

"  Nay,  were  I  to  explain,  you  would  not  now 
credit  me :  No  man  can  see  his  own  prejudi- 
ces; no,  though  a  philosopher  should  point 
at  them.  But  patience,  patience !  Time  and 
opportunity  shall  right  all  things.  Why,  you 
did  not  think,"  he  resumed  after  a  short 
pause,  "  you  did  not  really  think  you  were 
without  prejudices'?  Eighteen,  not  more,  if 
I  may  judge*  by  complexion,  and  without  pre- 
judices !     Why,  I  should  hardly  dare  to  assert 


A   FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  W 

I  was  myself  without  them,  and  I  beheve  I 
have  fought  harder  and  somewhat  longer 
against  them  than  you  can  have  done." 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  7  "  asked  the 
youth,  timidly. 

"  Have  you  do? —  Why,  I  would  have  you 
do  a  very  odd  thing  —  No  other  than  to  take  a 
turn  or  two  in  Epicurus's  garden."  ;^ 

'     "  Epicurus's  garden !  Oh  !  Jupiter !  "  .[•:■  ro 

"  Very  true,  by  Juno !  " 

"  What !  To  hear  the  laws  of  virtue  con- 
founded and  denied?  —  To  hear  vice  excul- 
pated, advocated,  panegyrized?  —  Impiety  and 
atheism  professed  and  inculcated  ?  —  To  wit- 
ness the  nocturnal  orgies  of  vice  and  debauch- 
ery ?  —  Ye  gods,  what  horrors  has  Timocrates 
revealed ! " 

"  Horrors,  in  truth,  somewhat  appalling,  my 
young  friend ;  but  I  should  apprehend  Timr- 
ocrates  to  be  a  little  mistaken.  That  the  laws 
of  virtue  were  ever  confounded  and  denied,  or 
vice  advocated  and  panegyrized,  by  any  pro- 
fessed teacher,  1  incline  to  doubt.  And  were  I 
really  to  hear  such  things,  I  should  simply  con- 
clude the  speaker  mad,  or  otherwise  that  he 
was  amusing  himself  by  shifting  the  meaning  of 
words,  and  that  by  the  term  virtue  he  under- 
stood vice,  and  so  by  the  contrary!  As  to  the 
inculcating  of  impiety  and  atheism,  this  may 


UB  A   FEW   DAYS   IN  ATHENS. 

be  exaggerated  or  misunderstood.  Many  are 
i  called  impious,  not  for  having  a  worse,  but  a 
\  different  religion  from  their  neighbors;  and 
many  atheistical,  not  for  the  denying  of  God, 
but  for  thinking  somewhat  peculiarly  concern- 
ing hinL  Upon  the  nocturnal  orgies  of  vice 
and  debauchery  I  can  say  nothing ;  I  am  too 
profoundly  ignorant  of  these  matters,  either  to 
exculpate  or  condemn  them.  Such  things  may 
be,  and  I  never  hear  of  them.  All  things  are 
possible.  Yes,"  turning  his  benignant  face 
full  upon  the  youth,  "  even  that  Timocrates 
should  lie." 

"  This  possibility  had  indeed  not  occurred  to 
me." 

"No,  my  young  friend;  and  shall  I  tell  you 
why?  Because  he  told  you  absurdities.  Let 
an  impostor  keep  to  probability,  and  he  will 
hardly  impose.  By  dealing  in  the  marvellous, 
he  tickles  the  imagination,  and  carries  away 
the  judgment ;  and  judgment  once  gone,  what 
shall  save  even  a  wise  man  from  folly?" 

"  I  should  truly  rejoice,  to  find  the  Garget- 
tian's  doctrine  less  monstrous  than  1  have 
hitherto  thought  them.  I  say  less  monstrous, 
for  you  would  not  wish  me  to  think  them 
good." 

"1  would  wish  you  to  think  nothing  good, 
or  bad  either,  upon  nvy  decision.     The  first  and 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  tfd 

the  last  thing  I  would  say  to  man  is,  think  for 
yourself!  It  is  a  bad  sentence  of  the  Pytha- 
goreans, '  The  master  said  so.'  If  the  young 
disciple  you  mentioned  should  ever  succeed  in 
your  conversion,  believe  in  the  metempsycho- 
sis for  some  other  reason  than  that  Pytha- 
goras '  taught  it.'  "  .  :.a ::.  b    • ! *-       ''  i 

"But,  if  I  may  ask,  do  you  think  well  of 
Epicurus  ?  " 

"  I  meant  not  to  make  an  apology  for  Epi- 
curus, only  to  give  a  caution  against  Timo- 
crates  —  but  see,  we  are  in  the  city ;  and  for- 
tunately so,  for  it  is  pretty  nigh  dark.  I  have 
a  party  of  young  friends  awaiting  me,  and,  but 
that  you  may  be  apprehensive  of  nocturnal  or- 
gies, I  would  ask  you  to  join  us." 

"  1  shall  not  fear  them  where  I  have  such  a 
conductor,"  replied  the  youth,  laughing. 

"  I  do  not  think  it  quite  so  impossible,  how- 
ever, as  you  seem  to  do,"  said  the  sage,  laugh- 
ing in  his  turn,  with  much  humor,  and  entering 
a  house  as  he  spoke;  then  throwing  open  with 
one  arm  a  door,  and  with  the  other  gently 
drawing  the  youth  along  with  him,  "I  am 
Epicurus  !  " 


QV  A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

-»H^:7'I    Ht,        CHAPTER    II. 

The  astonished,  the  affrighted  Theon  start- 
ed from  the  arm  of  the  sage,  and,  staggering 
backwards,  was  saved,  probably,  from  falling, 
by  a  statue  that  stood  against  the  wall  on  one 
side  of  the  door  :  he  leaned  against  it,  pale  and 
almost  fainting.  He  knew  not  what  to  do, 
scarcely  what  to  feel,  and  was  totally  blind 
to  all  the  objects  around  him.  His  conductor, 
-who  had  possibly  expected  his  confusion,  did 
not  turn  to  observe  it,  but  advanced  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  cover  him  from  the  view  of  the 
company,  and,  still  to  give  time  for  recollection, 
stood  receiving  and  returning  salutations. 

"Well  met,  my  sons !  and  I  suppose  you 
say  well  met,  also.  Are  you  starving,  or  am  I 
to  be  starved  ?  Have  you  ate  up  the  supper,  or 
only  sat  longing  for  it,  cursing  my  delay?  " 

"  The  latter,  only  the  latter,"  cried  a  lively 
youth,  hurrying  to  meet  his  master.  Another 
and  another  advanced,  and  in  a  moment  he 
was  locked  in  a  close  circle. 

"  Mercy !  mercy !  cried  the  philosopher, 
"  drive  me  a  step  further  and  you  will  over- 
turn a  couple  of  statues."  Then,  looking  over 
his  shoulder,  "  I  have  brought  you,  if  he  has 
not  run  away,  a  very  pleasant  young  Corinthi- 


A   FEW   DATS    IN   ATHENS.  21 

an,  for  whom,  until  he  gain  his  own  tongue, 
I  shall  demand  reception."  He  held  out  his . 
hand  with  a  look  of  bewitching  encourage-, 
ment,  and  the  yet  faltering  Theon  advanced. 
The  mist  had  now  passed  from  his  eyes,  and 
the  singing  from  his  ears,  and  both  room  and 
company  stood  revealed  before  him.  Perhaps,  i 
had  it  not  been  for  this  motion,  and  still  more 
this  look  of  the  sage,  he  had  just  now  made  a 
retreat  instead  of  an  advance.  "  In  the  hall  of 
Epicurus  —  in  that  hall  where  Timoc rates  had 
beheld" —  oh  !  horrid  imagination  !  "  And  he 
a  disciple  of  Zeno,  the  friend  of  Clean  thes  —  the 
son  of  a  follower  of  Plato  —  had  he  crossed 
the  threshhold  of  vice,  the  threshhold  of  the 
impious  Gargettian  !  "  Yes ;  he  had  certainly 
fled,  but  for  that  extended  hand,  and  that  be- 
witching smile.  These  however  conquered. 
He  advanced,  and  with  an  effort  at  composure, 
met  the  offered  hand.  The  circle  made  way, 
and  Epicurus  presented  "a  friend."  "His 
name  you  must  learn  from  himself,  I  am  only 
acquainted  with  his  heart,  and  that,  on  a 
knowledge  of  two  hours,  I  pronounce  myself 
in  love  with." 

"Then  he  shall  be  my  brother,"  cried  the 
lively  youth  who  had  before  spoken,  and  he 
ran  to  the  embrace  of  Theon. 

"  When  shall  we  use  our  own  eyes,  ears, 


22  A   FEW   DATS  IN   ATHENS. 

and  understandings?"  said  the  sage,  gently- 
stroking  his  scholar's  head.  "See!  our  new 
friend  knows  not  how  to  meet  your  premature 
afiection." 

" He  waits,"  returned  the  youth  archly,  "to 
receive  the  same  commendation  of  me  that  I 
have  of  him.  Let  the  master  say  he  is  in 
love  with  my  heart,  and  he  too  will  open  his 
arms  to  a  brother."  t 

*'I  hope  he  is  not  such  a  fool,"  gaily  re- 
plied the  sage.  Then  with  an  accent  more 
serious,  but  still  sweeter,  "  I  hope  he  will  judge 
all  things,  and  all  people,  with  his  own  under- 
standing, and  not  with  that  of  Epicurus,  or  yet 
of  a  wiser  man.  When  may  1  hope  this  of 
Sofron,"  smiling  and  shaking  his  head,  "cem 
Sofrontellme?" 

"No,  indeed  he  cannot,"  rejoined  the 
scholar,  smiling  and  shaking  his  head  also, 
as  in  mimicry  of  his  master. 

"  Go,  go,  you  rogue !  and  show  us  to  our 
supper :  I  more  than  half  suspect  you  have  de- 
voured it."  He  turned,  and  familiarly  taking 
Theon  by  the  shoulder,  walked  up  the  room,  or 
rather  gallery,  and  entered  a  spacious  rotunda. 

A  lamp,  suspended  from  the  centre  of  the 
ceiling,  hghted  a  table  spread  beneath  it  with  a 
simple  but  elegant  repast.  Round  the  walls, 
in  niches  at  equal  distances,  stood  twelve  stat- 


A   FEW   DATS  IN   ATHENS*  '        23 

ues,  the  work  of  the  best  masters ;  on  either 
hand  of  these  burned  a  lamp  on  a  small  tripod. 
Beside  one  of  the  lamps,  a  female  figure  was  re- 
clining on  a  couch,  reading  with  earnest  study 
from  a  book  that  lay  upon  her  knee.  Her 
head  was  so  much  bowed  forward  as  to  conceal 
her  face,  besides  that  it  was  shadowed  by  her 
band,  which,  the  elbow  supported  on  an  arm 
of  the  couch,  was  spread  above  her  brows  as  a 
relief  from  the  glare  of  the  light.  At  her  feet 
was  seated  a  young  girl,  by  whose  side  lay  a 
small  cithara,  silent,  and  forgotten  by  its  mis- 
tress. Crete  might  have  lent  those  eyes  their 
sparkling  jet,  but  all  the  soul  of  tenderness  that 
breathed  from  them  was  pure  Ionian.  The  full 
and  ruddy  lips,  half  parted,  showed  two  rows 
of  pearls  which  Thetis  might  have  envied. 
Still  a  vulger  eye  would  not  have  rested  on 
the  countenance:  the  features  wanted  the 
Doric  harmony,  and  the  complexion  was 
tinged  as  by  an  Afric  sun.  Theon,  however, 
saw  not  this,  as  his  eyes  fell  on  those  of  the 
girl,  uplifted  to  the  countenance  of  her  studious 
companion.  Never  was  a  book  read  more 
earnestly  than  was  that  face  by  the  fond  and 
gentle  eyes  which  seemed  to  worship  as  they 
gazed.  The  sound  of  approaching  feet  caught 
the  ear  of  the  maiden.  She  rose,  blushed,  half 
returned  the  salute  of  the  master,  and  timidly 


24  A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

drew  back  some  paces.  The  student  was  still 
intent  upon  the  scroll  over  which  she  hung, 
when  the  sage  advanced  towards  her,  and  lay- 
ing a  finger  on  her  shoulder,  "What  read. you, 
my  daughter  1 "  She  dropped  her  hand,  and 
looked  up  in  his  face.  What  a  countenance 
was  then  revealed  !  It  was  not  the  beauty  of 
blooming,  blushing  youth,  courting  love  and  de- 
sire. It  was  the  self-possessed  dignity  of 
ripened  womanhood,  and  the  noble  majesty 
of  mind,  that  asked  respect  and  promised  de- 
light and  instruction.  The  features  were  not 
those  of  Venus,  but  Minerva.  The  eye  looked 
deep  and  steady  from  beneath  two  even  brows, 
that  sense,  not  years,  had  slightly  knit  in  the 
centre  of  the  forehead,  which  else  was  uniformly 
smooth  and  polished  as  marble.  The  nose  was 
rather  Roman  than  Grecian,  yet  perfectly  reg- 
ular, and  though  not  masculine,  would  have 
been  severe  in  expression,  but  for  a  mouth 
where  all  that  was  lovely  and  graceful  habited. 
The  chin  was  elegantly  rounded,  and  turned  in 
the  Greek  manner.  The  color  of  the  cheeks 
was  of  the  softest  and  palest  rose,  so  pale,  in- 
deed, as  scarcely  to  be  discernible  until  deepened 
by  emotion.  It  was  so  at  this  moment :  star- 
tled by  the  address  of  the  sage,  a  bright  flush 
passed  over  her  face.  She  rolled  up  the  book, 
dropped  it  on  the  couch,  and  rose.     Her  stature 


A   FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS,  m, 

was  much  above  the  female  standard,  but 
every  Umb  and  every  motion  was  symmetry 
and  harmphy-  "A  treatise  of  Theophrastus ; 
—  eloquent,  ingenious  and  chimerical.  I  have 
a  fancy  to  answer  it."  Her  voice  was  full 
and  deep,  like  the  tones  of  a  harp  when  its 
chords  are  struck,  by  the  hand  of  a  master. 

"No  one  could  do  it  better,"  replied  the 
sage.  "  But  I  should  have  guessed  the  aged 
Peripatetic  already  silenced  by  the  most  acyte, 
elegant,  and  subtle  pen  of  j4tti§|is,"  ^^ 
bowed  to  the  compliment.         .,.",' 

"  Is  that  then  the  famous  Leontium?  "  mut- 
tered Theon.     "  Tiraocrates  must  be  a  liar." 

"  I  know  not,"  resumed  Leontiifm,  "  that  I 
should  this  evening  have  so  frequently  thought 
Theophrastus  wrong,  if  he  had  not  made  me 
so  continually  feel  that  he  thought  himself 
right.  Must  I  seek  the  cause  of  this  in  the 
writer's  or  the  reader's  vanity? " 

" Perhaps,"  said  the  master,  smiling,  "you 
will  find  that  it  lies  in  both." 

"I  believe  you  have  it,"  returned  Lepntiuni. 
"  Theophrastus,  in  betraying  his  self-love,  hurt 
mine.  He  who  is  about  to  prove  that  his  own 
way  of  thinking  is  right,  must  bear  in  mind 
that  he  is  about  also  to  prove  that  all  other 
ways  of  thinking  are  wrong.  And  if  this 
should  make  him  slow  to  enter  on  l^e  undejr- 

2 


26  A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

taking,  it  should  make  him  yet  more  careful, 
when  he  does  enter  on  it,  to  do  it  with  becom- 
ing modesty.  We  are  surely  imperiously  call- 
ed upon  to  make  a  sacrifice  of  our  own  vanity, 
before  we  call  upon  others  to  make  a  sacrifice 
of  theirs.  But  I  would  not  particularize  The- 
ophrastus  for  sometimes  forgetting  this,  as  I 
have  never  known  but  one  who  always  remem- 
bers it.  Gentleness  and  modesty  are  qualities 
at  once  the  most  indispensable  to  a  teacher, 
and  the  most  rarely  possessed  by  him.  It  was 
these  that  won  the  ears  of  the  Athenian  youth 
to  Socrates,  and  it  is  these,"  inclining  to  the 
Master,  "  that  will  secure  them  to  Epicurus." 
"  Could  I  accept  your  praise,  my  daughter,  I 
should  have  no  doubt  of  the  truth  of  your 
prophecy.  For,  indeed,  the  mode  of  delivering 
a  truth  makes,  for  the  most  part,  as  much  im- 
pression on  the  mind  of  the  listener  as  the  truth 
itself.  It  is  as  hard  to  receive  the  words  of 
wisdom  from  the  ungentle,  as  it  is  to  love,  or 
even  to  recognize  virtue  in  the  austere."  He 
drew  near  the  table  as  he  spoke.  Often  during 
supper  were  the  eyes  of  Theon  rivetted  on  the 
face  of  this  female  disciple.  Such  grace  !  such 
majesty  !  More  than  all,  such  intellect !  And 
this — this  was  the  Leontium  Timocrates  had 
called  a  prostitute  without  shame  or  measure ! 
And  this  was  the  Epicurus  he  had  blasted  with 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  27  • 

names  too  vile  and  horrible  to  repeat  even  in 
thought !  And  these  —  continuing  his  inward 
soliloquy  as  he  looked  round  the  board  —  these 
were  the  devoted  victims  of  the  vice  of  an  im- 
pious master, 

"  You  arrived  most  seasonably  this  even- 
ing," cried  Sofron,  addressing  the  Philosopher; 
"most  seasonably  for  the  lungs  of  two  of  your 
scholars." 

"  And  for  the  ears  of  a  third,"  interrupted  Le- 
ontium.     "  I  was  fairly  driven  into  exile." 

"What  was  the  subject?"  asked  Epicurus. 

"Whether  the  vicious  were  more  justly  ob- 
jects of  indignation  or  of  contempt :  Metrodorus 
argued  for  the  first,  and  I  for  the  latter.  Let 
the  master  decide." 

"  He  will  give  his  opinion  certainly ;  but  that 
is  not  decision." 

"  Well ;  and  your  opinion  is  that  of ." 

"  Neither." 

"  Neither !  I  had  no  idea  the  question  had 
more  than  two  sides." 

"  It  has  yet  a  third;  and  I  hardly  ever  heard 
a  question  that  had  not.  Had  I  regarded  the 
vicious  with  indignation,  I  had  never  gained 
one  to  virtue.  Had  I  viewed  them  with  con- 
tempt, I  had  never  sought  to  gain  one." 

"  How  is  it,"  said  Leontium,  "  that  the 
scholars  are  so  little  familiar  with  the  temper  of 


S»l 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 


their  master'?  When  did  Epicurus  look  on  the 
^  vicious  with  other  than  compassion?  "  'j^-'*-* 
'"  "True,"  said  Metrodorus.  "I  kndtr  nbt 
how  I  forgot  this,  when  perhaps  it  is  the  only- 
point  which  I  have  more  than  once,  presumed 
to  argue  with  him :  and  upon  which  I  have 
persisted  in  retaining  a  different  opinion." 

"  Talk  not  of  presumption,  my  son.  Who 
has  not  a  right  to  think  for  himself?  Or  who 
is  he  whose  voice  is  infallible,  and  worthy 
to  silence  those  of  his  fellow-men  ?  And  re- 
member, that  your  remaining  unconvinced  by 
my  arguments  on  one  occasion,  can  only  tend 
to  make  your  conviction  more  flattering  to  me 
upon  others.  Yet,  on  the  point  in  question,  were 
I  anxious  to  bring  you  over  to  my  opinion,  I 
know  one,  whose  argument,  better  and  more 
forcible  than  mine,  will  ere  long  most  effect- 
ually do  so." 

"  Who  mean  you  ?  " 

"  No  other  than  old  hoary  Time,"  said  the 
Master,  "  who,  as  he  leads  us  gently  onwards 
in  the  path  of  life,  demonstrates  to  us  many 
truths  that  we  never  heard  in  the  schools,  and 
some  that,  hearing  there,  we  found  hard  to  re- 
ceive. Our  knowledge  of  human  life  must  be 
acquired  by  our  passage  through  it ;  the  lessons 
of  the  sage  are  not  sufficient  to  impart  it.  Our 
knowledge  of  men  must  be  acquired  by  our 


A   FEW   DATS   IN   ATHENS.  29 

own  Study  of  them ;  the  report  of  others  will 
never  convince  us.  When  you,  my  son,  have 
seen  more  of  life,  and  studied  more  men,  you 
will  find,  or  at  least,  I  think  you  will  find,  that 
the  judgment  is  not  false  which  makes  us  leni- 
ent to  the  failings  —  yea !  even  to  the  crimes  of 
our  fellows.  In  youth,  we  act  on  the  impulse 
of  feeling,  and  we  feel  without  pausing  to 
judge.  An  action,  vicious  in  itself,  or  that  is 
so  merely  in  our  estimation,  fills  us  with  horror, 
and  we  turn  from  its  agent  without  waiting  to 
listen  to  the  plea  which  his  ignorance  could 
,9iake  to  our  mercy.  In  our  ripened  years,  sup- 
posing our  judgment  to  have  ripened  also, 
when  all  the  insidious  temptations  that  mis- 
guided him,  and  aU  the  disadvantages  that  he 
has  labored  under,  perhaps  from  his  birth,  are 
apparent  to  us  —  it  is  then,  and  not  till  then, 
that  our  indignation  at  the  crime  is  lost  in  our 
pity  of  the  man." 

"  I  am  the  last,"  said  Metrodorus,  a  crimson 
blush  spreading  over  his  face,  "  who  should 
object  to  my  master  his  clemency  towards  the 
offending.  But  there  are  vices,  diflerent  from 
those  he  saved  me  from,  which,  if  not  more  un- 
worthy, are  perhaps  more  unpardonable,  be- 
cause committed  with  less  temptation ;  and 
more  revolting,  as  springing  less  from  thought- 
less ignorance  than  calculating  depravity,"  j,  __ 


90  A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

"'"**  Are  we  not  prone,"  said  the  sage,  "  to  ex- 
'tenuate  our  foibles,  even  while  condemning 
them?  And  does  it  not  flatter  our  self-love,  to 
weigh  our  own  vices  against  those  of  more  err- 
ing neighbors  1 " 

The  scholar  leaned  forwards,  and  stooping 
his  face  towards  the  hand  of  his  master,  where 
it  rested  on  the  table,  laid  the  deepening  crim- 
son of  his  cheek  upon  it.  "I  mean  not  to  ex- 
culpate the  early  vices  of  Metrodorus.  I  love 
to  consider  them  in  all  their  enormity ;  for  the 
more  heinous  the  vices  of  his  youth,  the  greater 
"is  the  debt  of  gratitude  his  manhood  has  to 
repay  to  thee.  But  tell  me,"  he  added,  and 
lifted  his  eyes  to  the  benignant  face  of  the  sage, 
"  tell  me,  oh  !  my  friend  and  guide  !  was  the 
soul  of  Metrodorus,  found  base  or  deceitful ;  or 
has  his  heart  proved  false  to  gratitude  and 
affection?"  "  •   '' 

"  No,  my  son,  no,"  said  Epicurus,  his  face 
beaming  with  goodness,  and  a  tear  glistening 
in  his  eye.  "No!  Vice  never  choked  the 
warm  feelings  of  thy  heart,  nor  clouded  the 
fair  ingenuousness  of  thy  soul.  But,  my  son,  a 
few  years  later,  and  who  shall  say  what  might 
have  been?  Tnist  me,  none  can  drink  of  the 
cup  of  vice  with  impunity.  But  you  will  say, 
that  there  are  qualities  of  so  mean  or  so  horrible 
a  nature,  as  to  place  the  man  that  is  governed  by 


A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  31 

them  out  of  the  pale  of  communion  with  the 
virtuous.  MaHce,  cruelty,  deceit,  ingratitude  — 
■crimes  such  as  these,  should  you  think,  draw 
down  upon  those  convicted  of  them  no  feelings 
more  mild  than  abhorrence,  execration,  and 
scorn.  And  yet,  perhaps,  these  were  not  al- 
ways natural  to  the  heart  they  now  sway. 
Fatal  impressions,  vicious  example,  operating 
on  the  plastic  frame  of  childhood,  may  have 
perverted  all  the  fair  gifts  of  nature,  may  have 
distorted  the  tender  plant  from  the  seedling, 
and  crushed  all  the  blossoms  of  virtue  in  the_ 
germ.  Say,  shall  we  not  compassionate  the 
moral  disease  of  our  brother,  and  try  our  skill 
to  restore  him  to  health  7  But  is  the  evil  be- 
yond cure  ?  Is  the  mind  strained  into  change- 
less deformity,  and  the  heart  corrupted  in  the 
core  1  Gteater  then,  much  greater,  will  be  our 
compassion.  For  is  not  his  wretchedness 
complete,  when  his  errors  are  without  hope 
of  correction  1  Oh !  my  sons !  the  wicked 
may  work  mischief  to  others,  but  they  never 
can  inflict  a  pang  such  as  they  endure  them- 
selves. I  am  satisfied,  that  of  all  the  miseries 
that  tear  the  heart  of  man,  none  may  compare 
with  those  it  feels  beneath  the  sway  of  baleful 
passions." 

"  Oh !  "  cried   Theon,  turning  with  a  timid 
blush  towards  Epicurus,  "  I  have  long  owned 


<& 


i  ttW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 


ihie  jxDwer  of  virtue,  but  surely  till  this  night  I 
iiever  felt  its  persuasion." 

"I  see  you  were  not  bom  for  a  stoic,"  said 
the  master  smiling,  "  Why,  my  son,  what  made 
you  fall  in  love  with  Zeno?  " 

"  His  virtues,"  said  the  youth,  proudly. 

"  His  fine  face,  and  fine  talking,"  returned 
the  philosopher,  with  a  tone  of  playful  irony. 
"Nay  !  don't  be  offended;  "  and  stretched  his 
hand  to  Theon's  shoulder,  who  reclined  on  the 
sofa  next  hini.  "I  admire  your  master  very 
much,  and  go  to  hear  him  very  often." 
.  .  "Indeed!" 

"  Indeed  7  Yes,  indeed.  Is  it  so  Wonderful?" 

"  You  were  riot  there  "  —  Theon  stopped 
and  looked  down  in  confusion. 

"To-day,  you  mean?  Yes,  I  was;  and 
heard  a  description  of  mysielf  thiat  might  ihatch 
in  pleasari'try  with  that  in  '  The  Clouds  '*  of  old 
Socrates.  Fray  don't  you  find  it  very  like?  " 
He  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  couch,  arid 
looked  in  Theon's  face. 

"I  —  I  — "  The  youth  stammered  and 
looked  down. 

"  Thinlc  it  is,"  said  the  sage,  as  if  conclud- 
ing the  sentence  for  him. 

"  No,  think  it  is  not ;  swear  it  is  not ;  "  burst 


♦Alluding   to  the  comedy  of  Aristophanes,  in   which 
Socrates  was  indecently  ridiculed. 


A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS.  33 

forth  the  eager  youth,  and  looked  as  he  would 
have  thrown  himself  at  the  philosopher's  feet. 
"Oh  !  why  did  you  not  stand  forth  and  silence 
the  liar  7" 

"  Truly,  my  son,  the  liar  was  too  pleasant  to 
be  angry  with,  and  too  absurd  to  be  answered." 
"  And  yet  he  was  believed  ?  "j     -   ,.    _    :  ,_;, 
"Of  course."  -  r  t^     ■    ■  '  ;^ 

"But  why  then  not  answer  him?" 
"And  so  I  do.     I  answer  him  in  my  life. 
The  only  way  in  which  a  philosopher  should 
ever  answer   a   fool,   or,    as  in   this  case,   a 
knave." 

"I  am  really  bewildered,"  cried  Theon,  gaz- 
ing in  the  philosopher's,  and  then  in  Leontium's 
countenance,  and  then  throwing  a  glance  round 
the  circle.  "I  am  really  bewildered  with  as- 
tonishment and  with  shame,"  he  continued, 
casting  down  his  eyes,  "  that  I  should  have  lis- 
tened to  that  liar  Timocrates !  What  a  fool 
you  must  think  me !  " 

"  No  more  of  a  fool  than  Zeno,"  said  the 
sage,  laughing.  "  What  a  philosopher  listened 
to,  I  carmot  much  blame  a  scholar  for  believ- 
ing." 

"Oh  !  that  Zeno  knew  you  !  " 

"  And  then  he  would  certainly  hate  me." 

"You  joke." 

"Q,Liite  serious.     Don't  you  know  that  who 

2* 


Wl  A   !FEW    days   in   ATHENS. 

'qnarrelis  with  your  doctrine,  must  always  quar- 
rel with  your  practice  7  Nothing  is  so  provok- 
ing as  that  a  man  should  preach  viciously  and 
act  virtuously.^' 

"  But  you  do  not  preach  viciously." 

"  I  hope  hot.  But  those  will  call  it  so,  aye ! 
and  in  honest  heart  think  it  so,  who  preach  a 
different,  it  need  not  be  a  better,  doctrine." 

"  But  Zeno  mistakes  your  doctrine." 
-  •  ^'  I  have  no  doubt  he  expounds  it  wrong." 
^"""He  mistakes  it  altogether.     He  believes 
that  yOu  own  no  other  law — no  other  princi- 
ple of  action  —  than  pleasure." 

"  He  believes  right." 

"Right?  Impossible!  That  you  teach  men 
to  laugh  at  virtue,  and  to  riot  in  luxury  and 
vice." 

"  There  he  believes  wrong." 

Theon  looked  as  he  felt,  curious  and  uncer- 
tain. Be  gazed  first  on  the  philosopher,  and, 
when  he  did  not  proceed,  timidly  round  the  cir- 
cle.    Every  face  had  a  smile  on  it. 

"The  orgies  are  concluded,"  said  Epicurus, 
rising,  and  turning  with  affected  gravity  to  the 
young  Corinthian.  "  You  have  seen  the  hor- 
rors of  the  night ;  if  they  have  left  any  curios- 
ity for  the  mysteries  of  the  day,  seek  our  gar- 
den to-morrow  at  sunrise,  and  you  shall  be  in- 
itiated." 


A  FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  36 

if^  b<!&  ^:^l:  ■''■'.'!  •-'    ■  W'kI 

-fyivKin^  ,o!iL     CHAPTER    III.  .,fU 

The  steecls  of  the  sun  ha(i  riot  mountecl  ^he 
horizon,  when  Theon  took  the  road  to  the  gar- 
den. He  found  the  gate  open.  The  path  he 
entered  on  was  broad  and  even,  and  shaded  on 
either  side  by  rows  of  cork,  Hme,  oak,  and 
other  the  finest  trees  of  the  forest:  pursuing 
this  for  some  way,  he  suddenly  opened  on  a 
fair  and  varied  lawn,  through  which  the  Illis- 
sus,  now  of  the  whitest  silver  in  the  pale  twi- 
light, stole  with  a  gentle  and  noiseless  course. 
Crossing  the  lawn,  he  struck  into  a  close 
thicket :  the  orange,  the  laurel,  and  the  myrtle, 
hung  over  his  head,  whose  flowers,  slowly 
opening  to  the  breeze  and  light  of  morning, 
dropped  dews  and  perfumes.  A  luxurious  indo- 
lence crept  over  his  soul ;  he  breathed  the  airs, 
and  felt  the  bliss  of  Elysium.  With  slow  and 
measured  steps  he  threaded  the  maze,  till  he 
entered  suddenly  on  a  small  open  plot  of  ver- 
dure in  face  of  a  beautiful  temple.  The  place 
was  three  parts  encircled  with  a  wood  of  flow- 
ering shrubs,  the  rest  was  girded  by  the  wind- 
ing Ilhssus,  over  which  the  eye  wandered  to 
glades  and  softly  swelling  hills,  whose  bosoms 


30  A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

now  glowed  beneath  the  dyes  of  Aurora.  The 
building  was  small  and  circular  ;  Doric,  and  of 
the  marble  of  Paros  :  an  open  portico,  support- 
ed by  twenty  pillars,  ran  round  the  edifice : 
the  roof  rose  in  a  dome.  The  roseate  tints  of 
the  east  fell  on  the  polished  columns,  like  the 
blush  of  love  on  the  cheek  of  Diana,  when  she 
stood  before  her  Endymion. 

Theon  stopped :  the  scene  was  heavenly. 
Long  had  he  gazed  in  silent  and  calm  delight, 
when  his  eye  was  attracted  by  the  waving  of  a 
garment  on  one  side  of  the  temple.  —  He  ad- 
vanced, and  beheld  a  figure  leaning  against  one 
of  the  pillars.  The  sun  at  that  moment  shot 
his  first  beam  above  the  hills :  it  fell  full  upon 
the  face  of  the  son  of  Neocles  :  it  was  raised, 
and  the  eyes  were  fixed  as  in  deep  meditation. 
The  features  reposed  in  the  calm  of  wisdom : 
the  arms  were  folded,  and  the  drapery  fell  in 
masses  to  the  feet.  Theon  flew  towards  him 
then  suddenly  stopped,  fearing  to  break  upon 
his  thoughts.  At  the  sound,  the  sage  turned  his 
head,  "  Welcome,  my  son,"  he  said,  advancing 
to  meet  him,  "  Welcome  to  the  garden  of  pleas- 
ure, may  you  find  it  the  abode  of  peace,  of 
wisdom,  and  of  virtue." 

Theon  bowed  his  head  upon  the  hand  of  the 
master.  "  Teach  me,  guide  me,  make  me 
what  you  will  —  my  soul  is  in  your  hand." 


A   FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  ST 

"It  is  yet  tender,  yet  pure,"  said  the  Garget- 
tian;  "years  shall  strengthen  it  —  Oh!  let 
them  not  sully  it !  See  that  luminary  !  love- 
ly and  glorious  in  the  dawn,  he  gathers  strength 
and  beauty  to  his  meridian,  and  passes  in  peace 
and  grandeur  to  his  rest.  So  do  thou,  my  son. 
Open  your  ears  and  your  eyes;  know,  and 
choose  what  is  good ;  enter  the  path  of  virtue, 
and  thou  shalt  follow  it,  for  thou  shalt  find  it 
sweet.  Thorns  are  not  in  it,  nor  is  it  difficult 
or  steep :  like  the  garden  you  have  now  enter- 
ed, all  there  is  pleasure  and  repose." 

"Ah  !  "  cried  Theon,  "how  different  is  vir- 
tue in  your  mouth  and  in  Zeno's." 

"The  doctrine  of  Zeno,"  replied  the  sage, 
"  is  sublime :  many  great  men  shall  come  from 
his  school;  an  amiable  world,  from  mine. 
Zeno  hath  his  eye  on  man,  I  —  mine  on  men : 
none  but  philosophers  can  be  stoics;  Epicu- 
reans all  may  be." 

"  But,"  asked  Theon,  "  is  there  more  than 
one  virtue?" 

"No,  but  men  clothe  her  differently ;  some 
in  clouds  and  thunders ;  some  in  smiles  and 
pleasures.  Doctors,  niy  son,  quarrel  more 
about  words  than  things,  and  more  about  the 
means  than  the  end.  In  the  Portico,  in  the 
Lycaeum,  in  the  Academy,  in  the  school  of  Py- 
thagoras, in  the  Tub  of  Diogenes,  the  teacher 


^  A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

points  you  to  virtue ;  in  the  Garden  he  points 
you  to  happiness.  Now  open  your  eyes,  my 
son,  and  examine  the  two  Deities.  —  Say,  are 
they  not  the  same  ?  virtue,  is  it  not  happiness  ? 
■and  is  not  happiness,  virtue?" 
.jK  "Is  this,  then,  the  secret  of  your  doctrine?  " 
!,," No  other." 

,  .;  "But  —  but  —  where  then  is  the  dispute? 
Truly,  as  you  have  said,  in  -words  not  things." 

"  Yes,  in  a  great  measure,  yet  not  altogether : 
We  are  all  the  wooers  of  virtue,  but  we  are 
wooers  of  a  different  character." 

"And  may  she  not  then  favor  one,  more 
than  another?" 

"  That  is  a  question,"  replied  the  Gargettian 
playfully,  "that  each  will  answer  in  his  own 
favor.  If  you  ask  me,"  he  continued  with  one 
of  his  sweetest  tones  and  smiles,  "I  shall 
say  —  that  I  feel  myself  virtuous,  because  my 
soul  is  at  rest." 

"  If  this  be  -your  criterion,  you  should  with 
the  stoics  deny  that  pain  is  an  evil." 

"  By  no  means :  so  much  tRfe  contrary,  I  hold 
it  the  greatest  of  all  evils,  and  the  whole  aim 
of  my  life,  and  of  my  philosophy,  is  to  escape 
from  it.  To  deny  that  pain  is  an  evil  is  such 
■another  quibble  as  the  Elean's  denial  of  mo- 
tion :  that  must  exist  to  man  which  exists  to 
his  senses;  and  as  to  existence  or  non-existence 
abstracted. from  them,  though  it  may  afford  an 


A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  tt9 

idle  argument  for  an  idle  hour,  it  can  never 
enter  as  a  truth,  from  which  to  draw  conclu- 
sions, in  the  practical  lessons  of  a  master.  To 
deny  that  pain  is  ian  evil,  seems  more  absurd 
than  to  deny  its  existence,  which  has  also  been 
done,  for  its  existence  is  only  apparent  from  its 
effect  upon  our  senses ;  how  then  shall  we  ad- 
mit the  existence,  and  deny  the  effect,  which 
alone  forces  that  admittance?  But  we  will 
leave  these  matters  to  the  dialecticians  of  the 
Portico.  I  feel  myself  virtuous  because  my 
soul  is  at  rest :  With  evil  passions  I  should 
be  disturbed  and  uneasy ;  with  uncontrolled 
appetites  I  should  be  disordered  in  body  as 
well  as  mind,  —  for  this  reason,  and  for  this 
reason  only,  I  avoid  both." 

"Only!" 

"Only:  virtue  is  pleasure;  were  it  not  so,  1 
should  not  follow  it." 

Theon  was  about  to  break  forth  in  indignant 
astonishment :  the  Sage  softly  laid  a  hand  upon 
his  arm ;  and,  with  a  smile  and  bend  of  the 
head  demanding  attention,  proceeded :  "  The 
masters  Who  would  have  us  to  follow  virtue 
for  her  own  sake,  independent  of  any  pleasure 
or  advantage  that  we  may  find  in  the  pursuit, 
are  sublime  visionaries,  who  build  a  theory 
without  examining  the  ground  on  which  they 
build  it,  who  advance  doctrines  without  exam- 


<lb 


A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS. 


ining  principles.  Why  do  I  gaze  on  the  Cupid 
of  Praxiteles  ?  because  it  is  beautiful ;  because 
it  gives  me  pleasurable  sensations.  If  it  gave 
me  no  pleasurable  sensations,  should  I  find  it 
beautiful ;  should  1  gaze  upon  it ;  or  would 
you  call  me  wise  if  then  I  gave  a  drachma  for 
its  possession  ?  What  other  means  have  we  of 
judging  of  things  than  by  the  effect  they  pro- 
duce upon  our  senses  1  Our  senses  then  being 
the  judges  of  all  things,  the  aim  of  all  men  is 
to  gratify  their  senses :  in  other  words,  their 
aim  is  pleasure  or  happiness :  and  if  virtue 
were  not  found  to  conduce  to  this,  men  would 
do  well  to  shun  her,  as  they  now  do  well  to 
shun  vice." 

"  You  own  then  no  pleasure  but  virtue,  and 
no  misery  but  vice." 

"  Not  at  all :  I  think  virtue  only  the  high- 
est pleasure,  and  vice,  or  ungoverned  passions 
and  appetites,  the  worst  misery.  Other  pleas- 
ures are  requisite  to  form  a  state  of  perfect 
ease  ;  which  is  happiness  ;  and  other  miseries 
are  capable  of  troubling,  perhaps  destroying, 
the  peace  of  the  most  virtuous  and  the  wisest 
man." 

"  I  begin  to  see  more  reason  in  your  doc- 
trine," said  the  youth,  looking  up  with  a  timid 
blush  in  the  face  of  the  Philosopher. 

"  And  less  monstrous  depravity,"  replied  the 


A'  FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  41 

Gargettian,  laughing.  "  My  young  friend," 
he  continued  more  seriously,  "  learn  henceforth 
to  form  your  judgments  upon  knowledge,  not 
report.  Credulity  is  always  a  ridiculous,  often 
a  dangerous  failing :  it  has  made  of  many  a 
clever  man,  a  fool ;  and  of  many  a  good  man, 
a  knave.  But  have  you  nothing  to  urge 
against  me  ?  You  say  you  see  more  reason  in 
my  doctrine,  which  implies  that  you  think  me 
less  wrong,  but  not  right." 

"  I  am  a  young  disputant,"  answered  Theon, 
"  and  very  unfit  to  engage  with  such  a  mas- 
ter." 

"  That  does  not  follow ;  a  bad  logiciati  may 
have  a  good  understanding ;  and  a  young  mind 
may  be  an  acute  one.  If  my  argurtient  have 
truth  in  it,  less  than  a  philosopher  will  see  it ; 
and  if  it  have  not,  less  than  a  logician  may  re- 
fute it." 

"■  I  think  I  could  urge  some  objections,"  re- 
plied Theon;  "but  they  are  so  confused  and 
indistinct,  I  almost  fear  to  briiig  them  forth." 

"  I  dare  isay  I  could  forestall  the  most  of 
them,"  said  the  Master.  "  But  I  had  rather 
leave  your  mind  to  its  own  exercise.  Think 
over  the  matter  at  leisure,  and  you  shall  start 
your  questions  some  evening  or  morning  among 
my  scholars.  Knowledge  is  better  imparted 
in  a  dialogue  than  a  lecture ;  and  a  dialogue  is 


42  A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS. 

not  the  worse  for  having  more  than  two  inter- 
locutors. So !  our  walk  has  well  ended  with 
our  subject.  Let  us  see  what  friends  are  here. 
There  are  surely  voices." 

Their  route  had  been  circular,  and  had 
brought  them  again  in  front  of  .  the  temple. 
"  This  is  a  favorite  lodgment  of  mine,"  said 
the  Sage,  ascending  the  noble  flight  of  steps 
and  entering  the  open  door.  The  apartment, 
spacious,  vaulted,  and  circular,  occupied  the 
whole  of  the  building.  The  walls  were  adorn- 
ed with  fine  copies  of  the  best  pieces  of  Zeuxis 
and  Parrhasius,  and  some  beautiful  originals  of 
Appelles.  A  statue,  the  only  one  in  the  apart- 
ment, was  raised  on  a  pedestal  in  the  centre. 
It  was  a  Venus  Urania,  by  the  hand  of  Lysip- 
pus,  well  chosen  as  the  presiding  deity  in  the 
gardens  of  virtuous  pleasure.  The  ceiling, 
rising  into  a  noble  dome,  represented  the  heav- 
ens —  a  ground  of  deep  blue ;  the  stars,  sun, 
and  planets  in  raised  gold.  But  two  living  fig- 
ures soon  fixed  the  attention  of  Theon.  In  one 
he  recognized  Metrodorus,  though  he  had  not 
the  evening  before  much  observed  his  counten- 
ance. He  stood  at  a  painter's  easel.  His  fig- 
ure was  more  graceful  than  dignified,  his  face 
more  expressive  than  handsome.  The  eyes, 
dark,  piercing  and  brilliant,  were  bent  in  a 
painter's  earnest  gaze  on  his  living  study.    The 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 


^ 


forehead  was  short,  raised  much  at  the  temples 
and  singularly  over  the  brows.  The  hair  of  a 
dark  glossy  brown,  short  and  curled.  The 
cheeks  at  the  moment  deeply  flushed  with  the 
eagerness  and,  perhaps,  the  impatience,  of  an 
artist.  The  mouth  curled  voluptuously,  yet 
not  without  a  mixture  of  satire ;  the  chin  curv- 
ed upwards,  slightly  Grecian,  assisted  this  ex- 
pression. His  study  was  Leontium.  She  stood, 
rather  than  leaned,  against  a  pilaster  of  the 
wall ;  one  arm  supported  on  a  slab  of  marble, 
an  unrolled  book  half  lying  on  the  same,  and 
half  in  her  opened  hand.  The  other  arm, 
partly  hid  in  the  drapery,  dropped  loosely  by 
her  side.  Her  fine  face  turned  a  little  over  the 
left  shoulder,  to  meet  the  eye  of  the  painter. 
Not  a  muscle  played ;  the  lips  seemed  not  to 
breathe :  so  calm,  so  pale,  so  motionless  —  she 
looked  a  statue ;  so  noble,  so  severely  beauti- 
ful —  she  looked  the  Minerva  of  Phidias. 

"  I  cannot  do  it !  "  cried  Metrodorus,  flinging 
down  his  pencil.  "I  had  need  be  Appelles,  to 
take  that  face."  He  pushed  back  his  easel  in 
disgust. 

"  What!  "  said  Leontium,  her  fine  features 
relaxing  into  a  heavenly  smile,  "  and  is  all  my 
patience  to  go  for  nothing?  " 

"  I  am  a  blundering  blind  Boeotian  !  a  sav- 
age Spartan  !  "  continued  the  disappointed  ar 


44  A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

tist.  "There!"  and  seizing  a  brush,  was 
about  to  demolish  his  work. 
^,  "  For  your  hfe  !  "  cried  Leontium;  and 
starting  forward,  pulled  aside  his  hand.  "Oh! 
the  mad  ill-temper  of  a  genius  !  Why,  friend, 
if  my  face  were  half  so  fine  as  that,  Juno 
would  be  jealous  of  it." 

"And  who  knows  that  she  is  not?  A 
daub  !  a  vile  daub !  "  still  muttered  the  impa- 
tient scholar,  yet  his  face  gradually  relaxing  its 
anger,  as  in  spite  of  itself,  till  it  turned  to  meet 
Leontium' s  with  a  smile. 

"  And  there  stand  the  Master  and  the  young 
Corinthian  laughing  at  you,"  said  Leontium. 

They  approached.  "  Are  you  a  judge  1 " 
asked  Metrodorus  of  Theon. 

"I  am  afraid  not,  though  the  confession  will 
mar  my  compliments." 

"  But  I  am,"  said  the  Gargettian  humorous- 
ly:  "  And  though  I  have  all  the  inclination  in 
the  world,  yet  I  cannot  quarrel  with  the  per- 
formance. Well  outlined  and  finely  colored. 
The  attitude  and  air  hit  exactly.  The  features 
too  —  perhaps  —  the  only  possible  perhaps  my 
ill-nature  can  stumble  on,  perhaps  the  expres- 
sion is  too  blooming,  and  less  mental  than  that 
of  the  original." 

"  Why  there — there  it  is !  "  cried  the  scholar. 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  45 

his  face  resuming  all  its  vexation.  "The  look 
of  an  idiot  instead  of  a  genius." 

"  Not  quite  that  either  :  only  of  a  Hebe  in- 
stead of  a  Juno.     More  like  pur  Hedeia."        f^ 

"  Like  a  monster  !  "  muttered  the  angry  ar- 
tist. , 

"  Oh  !  Hercules,  oh  !  Hercules  !  "  cried  the 
sage.  "  What  it  is  to  rub  a  sore  place  1  ]Bet- 
ter  break  a  man's  leg  than  blow  a  feather  on 
his  razed  shin.  Had  I  (turning  to  Theon)  told 
him  he  had  drawn  a  humpbacked  Thersites  he 
would  have  blessed  me,  rather  than  for  this 
pretty  compliment  of  a  blooming-faced  Hebe.'' 

"  I  might  as  well  have  done  one  as  the 
other :  they  were  equally  like  the  original." 

"I  must  bow  to  that  compliment,"  said  Le- 
ontium,  laying  her  hand  on  her  breast,  and  in- 
clining with  affected  gravity  to  the  painter. 

He  tried  in  vain  to  resist  the  laugh ;  then 
looking  to  the  master— ^ '^  What  would  you 
have  me  turn  it  to  ?  "  -    "  '• 

"  As  you  object  to  a  Hebe,  to  a  philosopher 
by  all  means.  Silver  the  head  a  little,  it  may 
be  an  admirable  Epicurus." 

"  Nay  !  don't  make  the  madman  furious," 
said  Leontium,  placing  her  hand  on  Metrodo- 
rus's  shoulder ;  then,  addressing  Theon,"  Pray, 
young  man,  if  you  want  to  be  a  philosopher, 
never  find  an  eye  for  painting,  a  finger  for  mu- 


4fis  A   FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

sic,  or  a  brain  for  poetry.  Any  one  of  these 
will  keep  a  man  from  wisdom." 

"  But  not  a  woman,  I  suppose,"  retorted 
Metrodorus,  "  as  you  have  all  three.",  'u,  i./;  .>^ 

"Ready  at  compliments  this  morning:  but 
if  you  wanted  a  bow  for  this,  you  should  have 
given  it  with  a  more  gracious  face.  But  come, 
my  poor  friend  ;  we  will  try  to  put  you  in  good 
humor  —  Nothing  like  a  little  flattery  for  this. 
Here,  my  young  Corinthian  !  (walking  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room  to  a  newly  finished  pic- 
ture that  stood  against  the  wall,  and  beckoning 
Theon  towards  her)  you  may  without  skill 
perceive  the  beauty  of  this  work,  and  the  ex- 
cellence of  the  likeness." 

It  was  indeed  striking.  "Admirable!" 
cried  Theon  after  a  long  gaze  of  admiration, 
and  then  turning  to  compare  it  with  the  orig- 
inal. 

"  A  little  flattered,  and  more  than  a  little,  I 
fear,"  said  Epicurus  with  a  smile,  as  he  moved 
towards  them. 

"Flattered!"  exclaimed  Metrodorus;  "a 
Parrhasius  could  not  flatter  such  an  original." 

"  You  see  how  my  scholars  spoil  me,"  said 
the  Gargettian  to  Theon. 

"But  you  think,"  continued  Metrodorus, 
"  that  I  have  done  it  common  justice." 

"Much  more  than  common:  —  It  is  your 


A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  47 

master's  self.  The  dignity  of  his  figure,  the 
grace  of  his  attitude,  the  nobihty  of  his  fea- 
tures, the  divine  benignity  of  his  expression. — 
Had  we  not  the  original  to  worship,  we  might 
worship  your  copy." 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a 
crowd  of  disciples,  in  the  midst  of  whose  salu- 
tations young  Sofron  rushed  in,  breathless  with 
r,unning  and  convulsed  with  laughter. 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 


%i^ 


CHAPTER  IV. 


"  Prepare  yourselves !  Prepajre  yourselves !  " 
cried  the  panting  scholar.  "Oh!  Pollux! 
such  a  couple !  The  contrast  might  convulse  a 
Scythian." 

"What  is  it?  What  is  the  matter?"  cried 
a  dozen  voices. 

"I'll  explain  directly — Give  me  breath  — 
and  yet  I  must  be  quick,  for  they  are  close  on 
my  heels.  Gryphus,  the  cynic  —  some  of  you 
must  have  seen  him.  Well,  he's  coming  side 
by  side  with  young  Lycaon." 

"  Coming  here  !  "  said  the  master  smiling. 
"  What  can  have  procured  me  the  honor  of 
such  a  visit?" 

"  Oh !  your  fame,  of  course." 

"  I  suspect  you  are  making  a  fool  of  the  old 
cynic,"  said  Epicurus. 

"  Nay,  if  he  be  a  fool,  he  is  one  without  my 
assistance  :  Lycaon  and  I  were  standing  on  the 
steps  of  the  Prytaneum,  disputing  about  some- 
thing, I  forget  what,  when  by  came  Gryphus, 
and  stopping  short  at  bottom  of  the  steps,  '  Are 
you  disciples  of  Epicurus,  of  Gargettium  ? ' 
'  W«  are,'  answered  I^  for  Lycaon  only  stood 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  ^ 

Staring  in  amazement.  '  You  may  show  me 
the  way  to  him  then.'  '  With  all  my  heart,'  I 
again  replying,  Lycaon  not  yet  finding  his 
tongue.  '  We  are,  at  present,  for  the  Gardens, 
and  shall  hold  it  an  honor  to  be  conductors  to 
so  extraordinary  a  personage.'  I  wanted  to 
put  him  between  us,  but  Lycaon  seemed  un- 
ambitious of  his  share  in  this  distinction,  fof, 
stepping  back,  he  slipped  round  to  my  other  side. 
Oh !  Jupiter  !  I  shall  never  forget  the  contrast 
between  my  two  companions.  The  rough, 
dirty,  hairy  cynic  on  my  right  hand,  and  the 
fine,  smooth,  delicate,  pretty  Aristippian  on 
my  left.  We  brought  the  whole  street  at  ouy 
heels.  Lycaon  would  have  slunk  away,  bu)t,Jt 
held  him  tight  by  the  sleeve.  When  we  were 
fairly  in  the  Gardens,  I  gave  them  the  slip  at 
a  cross-path,  and  run  on  before  to  give  timely 
notice,  as  you  see.     But,  lo  !  Behold  !  " 

The  two  figures  now  appeared  at  the  door. 
The  contrast  was  not  much  less  singular  than 
the  scholar  had  represented ;  and  there  was  a 
sort  of  faint  prelude  to  a  universal  laugh, 
which,  however,  a  timely  look  from  the  Master 
instantly  quelled.  Lycaon,  from  the  lightness 
of  his  figure,  and  delicacy  of  his  features  and 
complexion,  might  have  been  mistaken  for  a 
female :  his  skin  had  the  whiteness  of  the  lily, 
and  the  blushing  red  of  the  rose  :  his  lips  the 
3 


^ 


A    FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 


vermil  of  coral ;  his  hair  soft  and  flowing ;  in 
texture,  silk ;  in  color,  gold :  his  dress  was 
chosen  with  studied  nicety,  and  disposed  with 
studied  elegance  :  the  tunic  of  the  whitest  and 
finest  linen,  fastened  at  the  shoulder  with  a 
beautiful  onyx  :  the  sash  of  exquisite  embroid- 
ery, and  the  robe  of  the  richest  Tyrian.  falling 
in  luxuriant  folds  from  the  shoulders,  and  over 
the  right  arm,  which  gracefully  sustained  its 
length,  for  the  greater  convenience  in  walking; 
the  sandals,  purple,  with  buttons  of  gold.  Gry- 
phus,  short,  square,  and  muscular  ;  his  tunic  of 
the  coarsest  and  not  the  cleanest  woollen,  in 
some  places  worn  threadbare,  and  with  one 
open  rent  of  considerable  magnitude  that 
proved  the  skin  to  be  as  well  engrained  as  its 
covering;  his  girdle,  a  rope:  his  cloak,  or 
rather  rag,  had  the  appearance  of  a  sail  taken 
from  the  wreck  of  an  old  trader :  his  feet  bare, 
and  thickly  powdered  with  dust :  of  his  face, 
little  more  might  be  distinguished  than  the 
nose ;  the  lower  part  being  obscured  by  a 
bushy  and  wide-spreading  beard,  and  the  up- 
per, by  a  profusion  of  long,  tangled  and  grisly 
hair.  The  wondering  disciples  opened  a  pas- 
sage for  this  singular  intruder,  who,  without 
looking  to  the  right  or  the  left,  walked  on,  and 
stopped  before  Epicurus. 

"  1  suppose  you  are  the  Master,  by  the  need- 


A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  ^ 

less  trouble  I  see  yon  take,  in  coming  to  meet 
me." 

"  When  Gryphus  has  possibly  walked  a  mile 
to  meet  Epicurus,  Epicurus  may  without  much 
trouble  walk  a  step  to  meet  Gryphus." 

"  In  my  walk  of  a  mile,"  returned  the  cynic, 
"  there  was  no  trouble :  I  took  it  for  my  own 
pleasure."  '•"''"  '*'*"  '■  "^^'-^^  ^'i'<»"'  ;'  i^^'^  viioi 

"And  my  walk  of  a  step  I  also  took  for 
mine." 

"Aye,  the  pleasure  of  ceremony  !  " 

"  I  may  hope,  then,  this  your  visit  is  from 
something  more  than  ceremony — perhaps  a 
feeling  of  real  friendship,  or  as  a  mark  of  your 
good  opinion." 

"I  hate  useless  words,"  returned  the  cynic, 
"  and  am  not  come  here  either  to  make  any,  or 
hearken  to  any.  I  have  heard  you  much  talked 
of  lately.  Our  streets  and  our  porticoes  buzz 
eternally  with  your  name,  till  now  all  wise 
men  are  weary  of  it.  I  come  to  tell  you  this, 
and  to  advise  you  to  shut  the  gates  of  your  gar- 
dens forthwith,  and  to  cease  the  harangues  of  a 
master;  since  you  only  pass  for  a  philosopher 
among  fools,  and  for  a  fool  among  philoso- 
phers." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  honest  advice  and  in- 
formation, friend;  but  as  the  object  of  a  mas- 
ter is  not  to  teach  the  wise,  but  only  the  im- 


5^  A   FEW   DAY§   IM   ATHENS. 

wise,  do  you  not  think  I  may  still  harangue 
among  fools  to  some  little  purpose,  though  Gry- 
phus,  and  all  sages,  will  of  course  justly  hold 
me  in  contempt  7  " 

"  And  so  that  fools  may  be  made  wise,  the 
wise  are  to  be  plagued  with  folly  7  " 

"Nay,  you  would  surely  cease  to  think  that 
folly  which  could  make  a  fool  wise." 

*'  A  fool  wise  !  And  who  but  a  fool  would 
think  that  possible  ?  " 

"  I  grant  it  were  difficult :  but  may  it  not 
also  sometimes  be  difficult  to  discover  who  is  a 
fool,  and  who  not?  Among  my  scholars 
there,  some  doubtless  may  be  fools,  and  som^ 
possibly  may  not  be  fools." 

"No,"  interrupted  the  cynic;  "or  they 
would  not  be  your  scholars." 

"Ah  !  I  being  a  fool  myself  Well  remind- 
ed !  I  had  forgot  that  was  one  of  our  premises. 
But  then,  I  being  a  fool,  and  all  my  scholars 
being  fools,  I  do  not  see  how  much  harm  can 
be  done,  either  by  my  talking  folly,  or  their 
hearkening  to  it." 

"  No,  if  wise  men  were  not  forced  to  hearken 
al^.  I  tell  you  that  our  streets  and  our  porti- 
coes buzz  with  your  name  and  your  nonsense. 
Keep  all  the  fools  of  Athens  in  your  gardens, 
and  lock  the  gates,  and  you  may  preach  folly 
as  long  and  as  loud  p^s  you  please." 


JL  t"EW   DATS    IN   ATHENS.  89 

"1  have  but  one  objection  to  this ;  iiamely, 
thait  my  gardens  would  not  hold  all  the  fools 
of  Athens.  Suppose,  thereifore,  the  wise  men, 
being  a  smaller  body,  were  shut  into  a  garden, 
and  the  city  and  the  rest  of  Attica  left  for  the 
fools  7  " 

"I  told  you,"  cried  the  cynic,  in  a  voice  of 
anger,  "that I  hat6  uselesi^  wotds." 

"  Nay,  friend,  why  then  walk  a  mile  to 
speak  advice  to  me  7  No  wotdd  so  ttseless  as 
those  thrown  at  a  fool." 

"  Very  true,  very  true  ;  "  and  so  sayings  thei 
stranger  turned  his  back,  and  quitted  the  tem- 
ple. 

"  There,"  said  the  son  of  Neocles  to  hi^  smil-' 
ing  disciples,  ^  is  a  good  warning  to  any,  or  all 
of  us,  who  would  be  philosophers." 

"  Nay,  master,"  crifed  Sofroh,  "  do  you  think 
Ms  in  danger  of  following  the  pleasant  example 
of  this  savage  1  Do  you,  indeed,  expect  to  see 
Lycaori  there,  ^ith  beard,  head  and  clothing, 
after  the  fashion  of  Gryphus7  " 

"  Not  beard,  head  and  clothing,  perhaps," 
answered  the  Gargettian  ;  "pride,  vanity,  and 
ambition,  may  take  less  fearful  coverings  than 
these."  \ 

"Pride,  vanity,  and  ambition?  I  Should 
rather  suspect  Gryphiis  df '  the  want  of  all 
three." 


((4  A  FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

"  Nay,  my  son,  believe  me  all  those  three 
qualities  were  concerned  in  the  carving  of  those 
three  frightful  appendages  of  our  cynic's  per- 
son. Pride  need  not  always  lead  a  man  to  cut 
mount  Athos  in  two,  like  Xerxes ;  nor  ambi- 
tion, to  conquer  a  world,  and  weep  that  there 
is  yet  not  another  to  conquer,  like  Alexander  ; 
nor  vanity,  to  look  in  a  stream  at  his  own  face 
till  he  fall  in  love  with  it,  like  Narcissus. 
When  we  cannot  cut  an  Athos,  we  may  leave 
uncut  our  beard ;  when  we  cannot  mount  a 
throne,  we  may  crawl  into  a  tub ;  and  when 
we  have  no  beauty,  we  may  increase  our  ugli- 
ness. If  a  man  of  small,  or  even  of  moderate 
talents,  be  smitten  with  a  great  desire  of  dis- 
tinction, there  is  nothing  too  absurd,  perhaps 
nothing  too  mischievous,  for  him  to  commit. 
Our  friend,  the  cynic,  happily  for  himself  and 
his  neighbors,  seems  disposed  to  rest  with  the 
absurd.  Erostratus  took  to  the  mischievous  — 
to  eternize  his  name  destroying  that  temple,  by 
the  building  of  which  Ctesiphon  immortalized 
his.  Be  it  our  care  to  keep  equally  clear  of  the 
one  as  of  the  other." 

"  Do  you,  then,"  asked  Theon,  "  think  a  de- 
sire of  distinction  a  vicious  desire?" 

"I  think  it  is  often  a  dangerous  desire,  and 
very  often  an  unhappy  one." 

"But  surely  very  often  a  fortunate  one," 


A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS.  65 

said  Leontium.  "  Without  it,  would  there 
ever  have  been  a  hero?  "  ;  1{(V/  5!i?M;>c  :  ;- 

"And  perhaps  returned  the  sage,  with  a 
smile,  "  the  world  might  have  been  as  happy  if 
there  had  not." 

*'  Well,  without  arguing  for  an  Achilles, 
would  there  have  been  a  Homer  1 " 

''  1  agree  with  you,"  replied  the  Master, 
more  seriously.  "The  desire  of  distinction, 
though  often  a  dangerous,  and  often  an  un- 
happy desire,  is  likewise  often,  though  I  believe 
here  sometimes  were  a  better  word,  a  fortunate 
one.  It  is  dangerous  in  the  head  of  a  fool; 
unhappy,  in  that  of  a  man  of  moderate  abili- 
ties, or  unfavorable  situation,  who  can  conceive 
a  noble  aim,  but  lacks  the  talent  or  the  means 
necessary  for  its  attainment.  It  is  fortunate 
only  in  the  head  of  a  genius,  the  heart  of  a 
sage,  and  in  a  situation  convenient  for  its 
development  and  gratification.  These  three 
things  you  will  allow  do  not  often  meet  in  one 
person." 

"  Yet,"  said  Theon,  "how  many  great  men 
has  Athens  produced  7  " 

"  But  it  is  not  a  consequent  that  they  were 
happy?" 

"  Happy  or  not  happy,  who  would  refuse 
their  fate?" 

"  I  like   that   feeling,"    replied  the  Garget- 


86  A    TEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

tian;  "nor  do  I  dissent  from  it.  The  fate  of 
greatness  will  always  be  enviable,  even  when 
the  darkest  storms  trouble  its  course.  Well- 
merited  fame  has  in  itself  a  pleasure  so  much 
above  all  pleasures,  that  it  may  weigh  in  the 
balance  against  all  the  accumulated  evils  of 
mortality.  Grant  then  our  great  men  to  have 
been  fortunate;  are  they,  as  you  say,  so 
many  1  —  Alas  !  my  son,  we  may  count  them 
on  our  fingers.  A  generation,  the  most  bril- 
liant in  genitis,  leaves  out  of  its  thousands  and 
millions  but  three  or  four,  or  a  dozen,  to  the 
worship,  even  to  the  knowledge  of  futurity." 

"  And  these,  only  these  three,  four,  or  a 
dozen,  have  a  right  to  the  desire  of  distinc- 
tion?" 

"As  to  the  right,"  replied  the  sage,  play- 
fully, "I  mean  not  to  dispute  that.  The  right 
lies  with  all  men  in  our  democracy  to  sit  in  a 
tub,  or  to  walk  in  a  dirty  tunic." 

"  But  you  will  allow  of  no  end  in  ambition 
but  an  absurd  one." 

"  I  have  not  expressed  myself  well,  or  you 
have  not  understood  me  well,  if  you  draw  that 
conclusion.  1  surely  have  granted  our  great 
men  to  have  had  great  ends  of  ambition." 

"  But  is  it  only  great  men,  or  men  destined 
to  be  great,  that  may  have  such  ends?  " 

"  I  allowed  that  others  might ;  1  only  said 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  57 

that  they  would  be  unhappy  in  consequence. 
The  perfection  of  wisdom,  and  the  end  of  true  L^ 
philosophy,  is  to  proportion  our  wants  to  our    i 
possessions,  our  ambitions  to  our  capacities." 

"Then,"  cried  Metrodorus,  "I  have  substan- 
tially proved  myself  this  morning  to  be  no  phi- 
losopher, when  I  chose  a  study  beyond  the 
reach  of  my  pencil." 

"  No,"  said  Leontium,  playfully  tapping  his 
shoulder,  "the  Master  will  make  a  distinction 
between  what  is  beyond  the  reach  of  our  ca-„-- 
pacity,  and  what  beyond  the  reach  of  our  prac- 
tice. Erostratus  might  never  have  planned  the 
edifice  he  destroyed ;  Ctesiphon  could  not  al- 
ways have  planned  it."  The  smile  that  ac- 
companied these  words,  lighted  one  yet  more 
brilliant  in  the  face  of  Metrodorus.  Theon 
guessed  that  he  fek  more  than  admiration  and 
more  than  friendship  for  this  female  disciple. 

"  Your  remark  was  well  timed  and  well 
pointed,"  said  the  Master,  "  and  has  saved  me 
some  talkmg." 

"I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  cried  Sofron,  step- 
ping forwards ;  "for  though  Leontium  has  so 
nicely  worded  the  distinction  between  want  of 
capacity  and  want  of  practice  in  the  general,  I 
should  like  to  be  told,  how  a  man  is  to  make 
this  distinction  between  his  own  in  particular  ? 
For  instance,  1  have  a  fancy  to  turn  philoso- 

3* 


^  A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

pher,  and  supersede  my  master ;  how  am  I  to 
tell,  at  my  first  nonplus  in  logic  or  invention, 
whether  the  defect  be  in  my  capacity  or  my 
practice  1 " 

"  If  it  be  only  in  the  last,  I  apprehend  you 
will  easily  perceive  it ;  if  in  the  first,  not  so 
readily.  A  man,  if  he  set  about  the  search, 
will  quickly  discover  his  talents  ;  he  may  con- 
tinue it  to  his  death  without  discovering  his 
deficiencies.  The  reason  is  plain ;  the  one 
hurts  our  self-love,  the  other  flatters  it." 

"  And  yet,"  interrupted  Theon,  "  1  think,  in 
my  first  interview  with  the  Philosopher  of 
Gargettium,  he  remarked,  that  tliousands  had 
the  seeds  of  excellence  in  them  who  never 
found  them  out." 

"I  see  you  have  a  good  memory,"  returned 
the  Master,  "  I  did  say  so,  and  I  think  it  still. 
Many  might  have  been  heroes,  and  many  phi- 
losophers, had  they  had  a  desire  to  be  either ; 
had  accident  or  ambition  made  them  look  into 
themselves,  and  inquire  into  their  powers ;  but 
though  jewels  be  hid  in  a  sack  of  oats,  they 
will  never  be  found,  unless  the  oats  be  shaken. 
Remember,  however,  ve  are  now  speaking  of 
one  class  of  men  only  —  the  ambitious  :  and 
the  ambitious  will  never  have  any  seeds  in 
them,  bad  or  good,  that  will  not  generate  and 
produce  their  proper  fruit.     Ambition  is  the 


A   F*\itr  dAVS  IN  AtHEiNS.  J|L 

^  ^\ 

spur,  and  the  necessary  spur,  of  a  great  mind 
to  great  action;  when  acting  upon  a  week 
mind  it  impels  it  to  absurdity,  or  sours  it  with 
discontent." 

''  Nay,  then,"  said  Sofron,  "  'tis  but  a  dan- 
gerous inmate,  as  minds  go ;  and  I,  for  one, 
had  better  have  none  of  it,  for  I  doubt  I  am 
not  born  to  be  an  Epicurus,  and  I  am  certain  I 
have  no  inchnation  to  be  a  Gryphus." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Master,  ''  we  have  at  least 
to  thank  Gryphus  for  our  morning's  dialogue. 
If  any  of  us  wish  to  prosecute  it  farther,  we 
may  do  it  over  our  repast  —  the  sun  has 
reached  his  noon,  so  let  us  to  the  bath." 

They  left  the  temple,  and  crossing  the  gar- 
dens in  an  opposite  direction  from  that  by 
which  Theon  had  entered,  soon  reached  a  gate, 
which,  to  his  surprise,  opened  on  a  court  at  the 
back  of  the  Gargettian's  house,  the  same  in 
which  he  had  supped  the  preceding  evening. 


90.  A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

Ti'  ^^vr     '1    filis'i;;     ^ 

-f  CHAPTER  V. 

The  fervor  of  the  day  had  dechned,  when 
Theon  issued  to  the  street  from  the  house  of 
Epicurus :  at  that  instant  he  met  in  the  face 
his  friend  Cleanthes ;  he  ran  to  his  embrace ; 
but  the  young  stoic,  receding  with  mingled  as- 
tonishment and  horror  —  "  Ye  gods  !  from  the 
house  of  Epicurus  7  " 

"  I  do  not  marvel  at  your  surprise,"  returned 
Theon,  "  nor,  if  I  recall  my  own  feelings  of  yes- 
terday, at  your  indignation." 

"Answer   me   quickly,"  interrupted  Clean- 
thes; "is  Theon  yet  my  friend?" 
ri,;';*  And  does  Cleanthes  doubt  it?  " 
(t"  What  may   I  not  doubt,   when  I  see  you 
come  from  such  a  mansion  ?  " 

"  Nay,  my  brother,"  said  Theon,  kindly 
throwing  his  arm  round  the  neck  of  his  friend, 
and  drawing  him  onwards,  "  I  have  been  in 
no  mansion  of  vice,  or  of  folly." 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  returned  the 
stoic,  but  half  yielding  to  his  kindness  ;  "I  do 
not  know  what  to  think,  or  what  to  fear." 

"Fear  nothing;  and  think  only  good,"  said 
the  Corinthian  :  "  True,  I  come  from  the  gar- 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  61^ 

dens  of  pleasure,  where  I  have  heard  very  little 
of  pleasure,  and  a  very  great  deal  of  virtue." 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  returned  the  other ;  "  you 
have  lost  your  principles,  and  I,  my  friend." 

"I  do  not  think  I  have  lost  the  first,  and  I 
am  very  sure  you  have  not  lost  the  last !  " 
."No!"  exclaimed  Cleanthes;  "but  I  tell 
you,  yes ; "  and  his  cheeks  flushed,  and  his 
eyes  flashed  with  indignation :  "I  have  lost 
my  friend,  and  you  have  lost  yours.  Go !  "  he 
continued,  and  drew  himself  from  the  arm  of 
Theon.  "  Go !  Cleanthes  hath  no  fellowship 
with  an  apostate  and  a  libertine."  ..it 

"  You  wrong  me ;  and  you  wrong  Epicu- 
rus," said  his  friend,  in  a  tone  of  more  re- 
proach than  anger :  "But  I  cannot  blame  you  ; 
yesterday  I  had  myself  been  equally  unjust. 
You  must  see  him,  you  must  hear  him,  Clean- 
thes. This  alone  can  undeceive  you  —  can 
convince  you ;  convince  you  of  my  innocence, 
and  Epicurus's  virtue." 

"  Epicurus' s  virtue!  your  innocence?  — 
What  is  Epicurus  to  me  7  What  is  he,  or 
should  he  be  to  you  ?  Your  innocence  1  And 
is  this  fastened  to  the  mantle  of  Epicurus :  see 
him  to  be  convinced  of  your  innocence  1 " 

"  Yes,  and  of  your  own  injustice  :  Oh ! 
Cleanthes,  what  a  fool  do  I  now  know  myself 
to  have  been  !     To  have  listened  to  the  lies  of 


6V  A   FEW   DAYS    m   ATHENS. 

Timocrates !  To  have  believed  all  his  absur- 
dities !  Come,  my  friend  !  come  with  me  and 
behold  the  face  of  the  Master  he  blasphemes  !  ' 

"  TheoHj  one  master,  and  but  one  master,  is 
mine.  To  me,  whether  Timocrates  exagger- 
ate or  even  lie,  it  liiatters  nothing." 

"It does,  or  it  should,"  said  the  Corinthian. 
"  Will  a  disciple  of  Zeno  not  open  his  eyes  to 
truth?  Not  see  an  error  and  atone  for  it,  by 
acknowledging  it  ?  I  do  not  ask  you  to  be  the 
disciple  of  Epicurus  —  I  only  ask  you  to  be 
just  to  him,  and  that  for  your  own  sake,  more 
than  mine,  or  even  his." 

"I  see  you  are  seduced  —  I  see  you  are 
lost,"  cried  the  stoic,  fixing  on  him  a  look  in 
which  sorrow  struggled  with  indignation.  "  I 
thought  myself  a  stoic,  but  I  feel  the  weakness 
of  a  woman  in  my  eyes. —  Thou  wert  as  my 
brother,  Theon ;  and  thou  —  thou  also  art  be- 
guiled by  the  Syren  —  left  virtue  for  pleasure, 
Zeno  for  Epicurus." 

"I  have  not  left  Zeno." 

"  You  cannot  follow  both  —  you  cannot  be 
in  the  day  and  under  the  night  at  one  and  the 
same  time." 

"  I  tell  you  there  is  no  night  in  the  gardens 
of  Epicurus." 

"  Is  there  ho  pleasure  there,"  cried  the  stoic, 
his  mouth  and  brows  curling  with  irony. 


A   PEW   DAYS   IN   AtHENS.  6^ 

>'  "  Yes,  there  is  pleasure  there :  the  pleasure 
of  wisdom  and  virtue." 

"Ah!  have  you  learnt  the cGargettian  sub- 
tleties so  soon  ?  You  have  doubtless  already 
worshipped  virtue  under  the  form  of  the  cour- 
tezan Leontium;  and  wisdom  under  that  of 
her  master  and  paramour,  the  son  of  Neocles." 

"  How  little  you  know  of  either  !  "  returned 
Theon.      "  But  I  knew  as  little  yesterday." 

Clean  thes  stopped.  They  were  before  the 
stoic  portico.  "  Farewell !  Return  to  your 
gardens.     Farewell !  " 

"  We  do  not  yet  part,"  said  Theon :  "  Zeno 
is  still  my  master."  He  followed  his  friend  up 
the  steps.  A  crowd  of  disciples  were  assem- 
bled, waiting  the  arrival  of  their  master. 
Some,  crowded  into  groups,  listened  to  the  har- 
angues of  an  elder  or  more  able  scholar :  others 
walking  in  parties  of  six  or  a  dozen,  reasoning, 
debating,  and  disputing:  while  innumerable 
single  figures,  undisturbed  by  the  buzz  around 
them,  leaned  against  the  pillars,  studying  each 
from  a  manuscript,  or  stood  upon  the  steps 
with  arms  folded,  and  heads  dropped  on  their 
bosoms,  wraped  in  silent  meditations.  At  the 
entrance  of  Cleanthes,  the  favored  pupil  of 
their  master,  the  scholars  made  way,  and  the 
loud  hum  slowly  hushed  into  silence.  He  ad- 
vanced to  the  centre,  and  the  floating  crowd 


&$  A    FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

gathered  and  compressed  into  a  wide  and  deep 
circle.  All  eyes  bent  on  the  youth  in  expec- 
tant curiosity,  for  his  countenance  was  dis- 
turbed, and  his  manner  abrupt. 

Cleanthes  was  of  the  middle  size :  so  slen- 
der, that  you  wondered  at  the  erectness  of  his 
gate  and  activity  of  his  motion.  His  neck  was 
small;  his  shoulders  falling;  his  head  ele- 
gantly formed ;  the  hair  smooth  and  close  cut ; 
the  forehead  narrow,  and  somewhat  deeply 
hned  for  one  so  young :  the  eyebrows  marked 
and  even,  save  a  slight  bend  upwards,  as  by  a 
frown,  above  the  nose.  The  eyes  blue ;  but 
their  giaze  was  too  earnest,  and  their  spirit  too 
clear,  to  leave  any  of  the  melting  softness  so 
usual  with  that  color: — And  yet  there  were 
moments  when  this  would  appear  in  them ; 
and  when  it  did,  it  went  to  the  soul  of  him 
who  observed  it,  but  such  moments  were  short 
and  rare.  The  nose  was  finely  and  perhaps 
too  delicately  turned ;  the  mouth  —  mild  and 
always  in  repose.  The  cheeks  were  thin,  and 
though  slightly  flushed,  the  face  had  a  look  of 
paleness  till  enthusiasm  awoke,  and  deepened 
all  its  dyes.  The  whole  expression  had  more 
spirituality  and  variety,  and  the  manner  more 
agitation,  than  you  would  have  looked  for  in 
the  first  and  favorite  pupil  of  Zeno.  The 
youth  turned  a  rapid  glance  round  the  circle : 


A  FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  (m 

he  threw  out  his  right  arm ;  the  mantle  dropped 
from  his  shoulder,  and  in  a  varied,  piercing, 
and  yet  melodious  voice  he  began  — ■ 

''My  friends!  My  brothers!  Disciples  of 
Zeno  and  of  virtue.  Give  ffle  your  ears,  and 
awake  your  faculties  !  How  shall  I  tell  the 
dangers  that  surround  you?  How  shall  I 
paint  the  demon  that  would  ensnare  you ; 
Timocrates  hath  escaped  from  his  enchant- 
ments, and  told  us  that  riot  and  revelling  were 
in  his  halls,  that  impiety  was  in  his  mouth; 
vice  in  his  practice ;  deformity  in  his  aspect : 
and  we  thought  that  none  but  souls  born  for 
error,  already  steeped  in  infamy,  or  sunk  in 
effeminacy,  could  be  taken  in  his  toils  and  se- 
duced by  his  example.  But  behold  !  he  hath 
changed  his  countenance  —  he  hath  changed 
his  tongue :  —  amid  his  revels  he  hath  put  on 
the  garb  of  decency:  in  his  riot  he  talks  of 
innocence;  in  his  licentiousness,  of  virtue. 
Behold  the  youth !  they  run  to  him  with  greedy 
ears  —  they  throng  his  gardens  and  his  porti- 
coes. Athens,  Attica,  Greece,  all  are  the  Gar- 
gettian's.  Asia,  Italy,  the  burning  Africa  and 
the  frozen  Scy thia  —  all,  all  send  ready  pupils 
to  his  feet.  Oh  !  what  shall  we  say  1  Oh  ! 
how  shall  we  Stem  the  torrent  1  Oh  !  how 
shall  we  fence  our  hearts  — ^  how  our  ears  from 
the  song  of  the  Syren  7  —  to  what  mast  shall 


66  A   FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

we  bind  ourselves,  to  what  pilot  shall  we  trust, 
that  we  may  pass  the  shores  in  safety  without 
dashing  on  the  rocks  ?  —  But  why  do  I  speak  1 
Why  do  I  enquire?  Why  do  I  exhort?  -Is 
not  the  contagion  already  among  us  ?  In 
the  school  of  Zeno  —  in  this  portico  —  in  this 
circle  are  there  not  waverers  —  Yea,  are  there 
not  apostates  1 "  Emotion  choked  his  utter- 
ance :  he  paused,  and  glanced  his  kindled  eyes 
round  upon  the  audience.  Every  breath  was 
held  in  expectation ;  each  looked  on  the  other 
in  doubt,  dismay,  and  inquiry.  Theon's  heart 
beat  quick  and  high  :  he  advanced  one  step, 
and  raised  his  arm  to  speak ;  but  Cleanthes, 
gathering  his  breath,  again  in  a  rapid  voice 
continued :  — 

"  Does  this  silence  speak  conscious  guilt,  or 
startled  innocence  1  The  last :  I  will  believe 
the  last.  Praise  be  to  the  gods !  praise  to  our 
guardian,  Minerva!  praise  to  our  great,  our 
glorious  master,  there  are  yet  some  sons  left  to 
Athens  and  to  Greece,  who  shall  respect,  fol- 
low, and  attain  to  virtue!  Some  choice  and 
disciplined  souls  who  shall  stand  forth  the  light 
and  ornament  of  their  age,  and  whose  names 
shall  be  in  honor  with  those  yet  unborn. 
Rouse,  rouse  up  your  energies !  Oh  !  be  firm 
to  Zeno,  and  to  virtue  !  I  tell  you  not  —  Zeno 
tells  you  not,  that  virtue  is  found  in  pleasure's 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  67 

repose.  Resistance,  energy,  watchfulness,  pa- 
tience, and  endurance  —  these,  these  must  be 
your  practice,  must  be  your  habit,  ere  you  can 
reach  the  perfection  of  your  nature.  The  as- 
cent is  steep,  is  long,  is  arduous.  To-day  you 
must  ascend  a  step,  and  to-morrow  a  step,  and 
to-morrow,  and  to-morrow  —  and  yet  shall 
you  be  far  from  the  summit,  from  rest,  and 
from  security.  Does  this  appal  you?  Does 
this  disgust  you  ?  Go  then  to  the  Gardens  ! 
Go  to  the  man  of  Gargettium  —  he  who  calls 
himself  philosopher,  and  who  loves  and  teaches 
folly  !  Go,  go  to  him,  and  he  shall  encourage 
and  soothe  you.  He  shall  end  your  pursuit, 
and  give  you  your  ambition  !  He  shall  show 
you  virtue  robed  in  pleasures,  and  lolling  in 
ease  !  He  shall  teach  you  wisdom  in  a  song, 
and  happiness  in  impiety !  —  But  I  am  told, 
that  Timocrates  hath  lied ;  that  Epicurus  is 
not  a  libertine  ;  nor  Leontium  a  prostitute ;  nor 
the  youth  of  the  Garden  the  ministers  to  their 
lusts.  Be  it  so.  Timocrates  must  answer  to 
himself,  whether  his  tale  be  the  outpourings  of 
indignant  truth,  or  the  subtle  inventions  of  ma- 
levolence :  with  his  own  conscience  be  the  se- 
cret :  to  us  it  matters  nothing.  We,  who  have 
nought  to  do  with  the  doctrines  of  Epicurus, 
have  nought  to  do  with  his  practice.  Let  him 
who   would   vindicate   the  one,  vindicate  the 


W  A    ii^  DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

Other:  let  him  come  forth  and  say,  that  the 
master  in  the  Gardens  is  not  only  pure  in  ac- 
tion, but  perfect  in  theory.  Let  him  say,  that 
he  worships  virtue  as  virtue,  and  shuns  vice  as 
vice.  Let  him  say  that  he  arms  the  soul  with 
fortitude,  enobles  it  with  magnanimity,  chast- 
ens it  with  temperance,  enlarges  it  with  benefi- 
cence, perfects  it  With  justice ;  —  and  let  him 
rnoreover  say,  that  he  does  this,  not  that  the 
soul  so  schooled  and  invigorated  may  lie  in  the 
repose  of  virtuOj  but  that  it  may  exult  in  its 
honor,  and  be  fitted  for  its  activity.  Fie  on 
that  virtue  which  prudence  alone  directs ! 
Which  teaches  to  be  just  that  the  laws  may 
not  punish,  or  our  neighbors  revenge:  — to  be 
enduring  —  because  complainings  were  useless, 
and  weakness  would  bring  on  us  insult  and 
contempt :  —  to  be  tempierate  —  that  our  body 
may  keep  its  vigor,  our  appetites  retain  their 
acuteness,  and  our  gratifications  and  sensuali- 
ties their  zest :  —  to  serve  our  friends  —  that 
they  may  serve  us;  —  our  country  —  because 
its  defence  and  well-being  comprehends  our 
own.  Why  all  this  is  well  —  but  is  there 
nothing  more?  Is  it  our  ease  alone  we  shall 
study,  and  not  our  dignity?  —  Though  all  my 
fellow-men  were  swept  away,  and  not  a  mor- 
tal nor  immortal  eye  were  left  to  approve  or 
condemn  —  should   I  not  here  —  within    this 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHEN?.  fljBi^ 

breast,  have  a  judge  to  dread,  and  a  friend  tp 
conciliate  7  Prudence  and  pleasure  !  Was  jfi 
from  such  principles  as  these  that  the  virtue  of 
Solon,  of  Miltiades,  of  Aristides,  of  Socrates,  of 
Plato,  of  Xenophon,  of  all  Qur  heroes  ^nd  all 
our  sages,  had  its  spring  and  its  nourishment? 
Was  it  such  virtue  as  this  that  in  Lycurgus 
put  by  the  offered  crown  1  —  that  in  Lepnidas 
stood  at  Thermopylae?  —  that  in  the  dying 
Pericles  gloried  that  he  had  never  caused  a  citr 
izen  to  mourr^  7  W§is  it  such  virtue  as  this  -r^. 
that  spoke  ill  Socrates  before  his  judges  7 -rr 
that  sustained  him  in  his  prison  —  and  when 
the  door  was  open,  and  thp  sail^  of  the  ready 
ship  unfurled,  made  him  prefer  death  tp  fligh|^ 
hi^  dignity  to  his  existence  7  "  ;>: 

Again  the  young  orator  paused,  but  his  in- 
dignant soul  seemed  s.till  to  speak  frpm  his 
flashing  eyes.  His  cheeks  glowed  as  fire,  and 
the  big  drops  rolled  from  his  forehead.  At 
this  moment  the  circle  behipd  him  gave  way 
Zeno  advanced  into  the  midst :  he^topd  by  the 
head  and  shoulders  above  the  crowd :  his 
breast,  broad  and  manly  :  his  limbs,  cast  in 
strength  and  symmetry :  his  gait,  erect,  calm, 
and  dignified :  his  features,  large,  grand,  and 
regular,  seemed  sculptured  by  the  chisel  for  a 
coUossal  divinity:  the  forehead,  broad  and  se- 
rene, was  marked  with  the  even  lines  of  wis- 


7^  A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

dom  and  age ;  but  no  harsh  wrinkles,  nor  play- 
ing muscles  disturbed  the  repose  of  his  cheeks, 
nor  had  sixty  years  touched  with  one  thread  of 
silver  his  close  black  hair  ;  the  eyes,  dark  and 
full,  fringed  with  long  straight  lashes,  looked  in 
severe  and  steady  wisdom  from  under  their 
correct  and  finely  arched  brows :  the  nose 
came  from  the  forehead,  straight  and  even  :  the 
mouth  and  chin,  were  firm  and  silent.  Wis- 
dom undisturbable,  fortitude  unshakeable,  self- 
respect,  self-possession,  and  self-knowledge  per- 
fected, were  in  his  face,  his  carriage,  and  his 
tread. 

He  stopped  before  the  youth,  who  had  turned 
at  his  approach.  "  My  son,"  fixing  his  calm 
gaze  on  the  working  countenance  of  his  pupil, 
"  what  hath  disturbed  thy  soul?  "  Cleanthes 
laid  a  hand  on  his  laboring  breast :  he  made 
one  violent  effort  for  composure  and  speech  :  it 
failed.  The  hot  blood  forsook  his  cheeks :  it 
rushed  again :  again  it  fled :  he  gasped,  and 
dropped  fainting  at  the  feet  of  his  Master. 


A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  '  71 

-Old  i^iiJ  3iii"«7!^tmi  '.>iifi  .f=^»aoi  ski  iiocfo  utma 
-t*\>  i^Tf  >.f)   Mid   •ifn  '^.JHti^H  •'    ,' i>i'f7i'r>.^'i    Hisi 

CHAPTER    VI.  ','7-'' 

•    lOU  .■*  iK'ti    ■•  ;!  ii-  «fe  ff 

Theon  rushed  forward :  He  knelt ;  he  raised 
the  head  of  his  friend :  Breathless,  agitated, 
terrified,  he  called  his  name  with  the  piercing 
cry  of  agony  and  despair.  All  was  commotion 
and  confusion.  The  scholars  pressed  forward 
tumultuously  ;  but  Zeno,  raising  his  arm,  and 
looking  steadily  round,  cried  "  Silence  !  "  The 
crowd  fell  back,  and  the  stillness  of  night  suc- 
ceeded. Then  motioning  the  circle  towards 
the  street,  to  give  way  and  admit  the  air,  he 
stooped  and  assisted  Theon  to  support  his  re- 
viving pupil.  Cleanthes  raised  his  head, 
turned  his  eyes  wildly  around,  and  then  fixed 
them  on  his  master. 

"Gently,"  said  Zeno,  as  the  youth  strug- 
gled in  their  arms  for  recollection,  "  gently,  my 
son."  But  he  made  the  effort :  he  gained  his 
feet,  and  throwing  out  his  arm  to  a  pillar  near 
him,  turned  his  head  aside,  and  for  some  mo- 
ments combated  with  his  weakness  in  silence. 
His  limbs  still  trembled,  and  his  face  had  yet 
the  hues  of  death,  when,  pressing  Jiis  hand 
with  convulsive  strength  a,gainst  the  pillar,  he 
proudly   drew   up   his  form,   turned  his  eyes 


fZi   ^  A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

again  upon  his  master,  and  mustering  his  bro- 
ken respiration,  "Blame  me,  but  do  not  de- 
spise me." 

''  I  shall  do  neither,  my  son  :  the  weakness 
was  in  the  body,  not  the  mind." 

"  There  has  been  want  of  command  in  both. 
I  ask  not  to  be  excused."  Then  turning  round 
to  his  companions,  "  I  may  be  a  warning  if  not 
an  example.  The  Spartans  expose  the  drunk- 
enness of  their  Helots  to  confirm  their  youth  in 
sobriety  ;  let  tlie  weakness  of  Cle^nthes  teach 
the  sons  of  Zeno  equanimity ;  and  let  them 
say.  If  in  the  portico  weakness  he  found,  what 
shall  it  be  ip  the  Gardens!  But,"  he  contin- 
ued, addressing  his  master,  "  will  Zeno  pardon 
the  scholar  who,  while  enforcing  his  nervous 
doctrines  on  0:t^ers,  has  swerved  from  them 
himself?" 

"  Thou  judgest  thy  fault  as  thou  shouldst 
judge  it,"  returned  Zeno ;  "  but  comfort,  my 
son !  He  who  knows,  and  knowing  can  ac- 
knowledge his  deficiency,  though  his  foot  be 
not  on  the  summit,  yet  hath  he  his  eye  there. 
But  say  the  cause,  and  surely  it  must  be  a 
great  one,  that  coulii  disturb  the  self-possession 
of  my  disciple." 

"  The  cause  was  indeed  a  great  one;  no  less 
than  the  apostacy  of  a  scholar  from  Zeno  to 
Epicurus." 


A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  ^ 

Zeno  turned  his  eyes  round  the  circle  :  there 
was  no  additional  severity  in  them,  and  no 
change  in  his  manner,  or  in  his  deep,  sonorous 
voice,  when,  addressing  them,  he  said,  "If one 
or  more,  or  all  of  my  disciples  be  wearied  of 
virtue,  let  them  depart.  Let  them  not  fear  up- 
braidings  or  exhortations  ;  the  one  were  useless 
to  you,  the  other  unworthy  of  me.  He  who 
sighs  for  pleasure,  the  voice  of  wisdom  can 
never  reach,  nor  the  power  of  virtue  touch.  In 
this  Portico  truth  will  never  be  softened  to 
win  a  sickly  ear ;  nor  the  severity  of  virtue, 
will  it  ever  be  veiled  to  win  a  feeble  heart. 
He  who  obeys  in  act  and  not  in  thought; 
he  who  disciplines  his  body  and  not  his 
mind ;  he  who  hath  his  foot  in  the  Portico, 
and  his  heart  in  the  Gardens ;  he  hath  no 
more  to  do  with  Zeno,  than  a  wretch  sunk  in 
all  the  effeminacy  of  a  Median,  or  the  gross 
debauchery  of  a  Scythian.  There  is  no  mid- 
way in  virtue ;  no  halting  place  for  the  soul 
but  perfection.  You  must  be  all,  or  you  may 
be  nothing.  You  must  determine  to  proceed 
to  the  utmost,  or  I  encourage  ye  not  to  begin. 
I  say  to  ye,  one  and  all,  give  me  your  ears, 
your  understandings,  your  souls,  and  your  en- 
ergies, or  depart !  ^^  Again  he  looked  round 
upon   his   scholars.     A   long  and  deep  silence 


74  A    FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

succeeded:  when  young  Theon,  breaking 
through  his  awe,  and  his  timidity,  advanced 
into  the  centre,  and  craving  sufferance  with 
his  hand,  addressed  the  assembly. 

"  Though  I  should  forfeit  the  esteem  of 
Zeno  and  the  love  of  his  disciples,  I  have 
no  choice  but  to  speak.  Honor  and  justice 
demand  this  of  me :  jQ.rst,  to  remove  suspicion 
from  this  assembly ;  next,  to  vindicate  the 
character  of  a  sage  Avhom  the  tongue  of  a  liar 
bath  traduced;  and,  lastly,  to  conciliate  my 
own  esteem,  which  I  value  beyond  even  the 
esteem  of  the  venerated  Zeno,  and  of  my  be- 
loved Cieanthes."  He  paused;  and  turning 
to  Zeno,  —  "  With  permission  of  the  master,  I 
would  speak." 

"Speak,  my  son:  we  attend."  Zeno  re- 
treated among  his  disciples ;  and  Cieanthes, 
anxious  and  agitated  for  his  friend,  placed 
himself  behind  the  screen  of  a  pillar.  With  a 
varying  cheek  and  a  tremulous  voice,  the 
youth  began :  — 

"In  addressing  an  assembly  accustomed  to 
the  manly  elocution  of  a  Zeno,  and  the  glow- 
ing eloquence  of  a  Cieanthes,  I  know  I  shall 
be  forgiven  by  my  companions,  and  I  hope 
even  by  my  severe  master,  the  blushes  and 
hesitations  of  timidity  and  inexperience.  I 
open  my  mouth  for  the  first  time   in  public ; 


A   PEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS.  W , 

and  in  t^rhat  a  public  is  it  1  Let  hot,  fhef^fdre, 
my  confusion  be  thought  the  confusion  of 
guilt;  but,  as  it  truly  is,  of  bashful  inexpe- 
rience. First,  to  remove  suspicion  from  this 
assembly :  —  let  not  the  scholars  look  with 
doubt  on  each  other ;  let  not  the  master  look 
with  doubt  on  his  scholars.  I  am  he  who 
have  communed  with  the  son  of  Neocles ;  — ^  I 
am  he  who  have  entered  the  gardens  of  pleas- 
ure ;  —  I  am  he  whom  Cleanthes  hath  pointed 
at  as  the  apostate  from  Zeno  to  Epicurus."  A 
tumult  arose  among  the  scholars.  Surprise, 
indignation,  and  scorn,  variously  looked  from 
their  faces,  and  murmured  from  their  tongues. 

"  Silence  !  "  cried  Zeno,  casting  his  severe 
glance  round  the  circle.  "  Young  man,  pro- 
ceed." 

This  burst  of  his  audience  rather  invigorated 
than  dashed  the  youth.  He  freely  threw  forth 
his  arm ;  his  eyes  lighted  with  fire,  and  the 
ready  words  flowed  from  his  lips  :  —  "I  merit 
not  the  hiss  of  scorn,  nor  the  burst  of  indigna- 
tion. Desist,  my  brothers,  till  my  artless  tale 
be  told  ;  —  till  you  have  heard,  not  my  apolo- 
gy, but  my  justification.  Yesterday,  at  this 
hour,  I  left  the  Portico,  heated  to  fury  by  the 
phillippic  of  Timocrates  against  Epicurus  and 
his  disciples ;  indignant  at  the  city  that  did 
not    drive    such   a   teacher    from    its  walls ; 


76  A   FEW    DAYS   IN    ATHENS. 

against  the  gods  who  did  not  strilce  him  with 
their  thunders.  Thus  venting  my  feelings  in 
soliloquy,  after  a  long  ramble  I  seated  myself 
on  the  banks  of  Cephisus,  and  was  awakened 
from  a  reverie  by  the  approach  of  a  stranger  : 
his  aspect  had  the  wisdom  of  a  sage,  and  the 
benignity  of  a  divinity.  I  yielded  him  the 
homage  of  youthful  respect  and  admiration  : 
he  condescended  to  address  me.  He  gave  me 
the  precepts  of  virtue  with  the  gentle  and  hon- 
ied tongue  of  kindness  and  persuasion.  I 
listened,  I  admired,  and  I  loved.  We  did  not 
conclude  our  walk  until  sunset :  he  bade  me 
to  his  supper.  I  entered  his  house,  and  he  told 
me  I  beheld  Epicurus.  Could  1  have  drawn 
back  7  Should  I  have  drawn  back  %  No :  my 
heart  answers,  no.  Your  sufferance,  my 
friends !  Do  not  interrupt  me  !  Do  not  call 
me  an  apostate  !  In  the  presence  of  the  gods  ; 
in  the  presence  of  my  master,  whom  1  fear  as 
them ;  in  the  presence  of  my  own  conscience, 
which  I  fear  more  than  both,  I  swear  that  I 
am  not  so  !  I  mean  not  to  explain  or  to  justify 
the  philosophy  of  Epicurus :  I  know  but  little 
of  it.  I  only  know  —  I  only  affirm,  that  his 
/  tongue  has  given  new  warmth  to  my  love  of 
virtue,  and  new  vigor  to  my  pursuit  of  it :  — 
I  only  affirm,  that  persuasion,  simple,' un garn- 
ished persuasion,  is  in  his  lips ;  benevolence  in 


A    FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  W 

his  aspect ;  urbanity  in  his  manners  :  generos- 
ity, truth,  and  candor  in  his  sentiments  : —I 
only  affirm,  that  order,  innocence,  and  content, 
are  m  his  halls  and  his  gardens;  peace  and 
brotherly  love  with  his  disciples  ;  and  that,  in 
the  midst  of  these,  he  is  himself  the  philoso- 
pher, the  parent,  and  the  friend.  I  see  the 
sneer  of  contempt  upon  your  lips,  my  broth- 
ers ;  alas  !  even  on  the  unperturbed  counte- 
nance of  my  master  I  read  displeasure." 

"  No,  my  son,"  said  Zeno,  "thou  dost  not. 
Continue  thy  artless  tale.  If  there  be  error, 
it  lies  with  the  deceiver,  not  the  deceived. 
And  you,  my  sons  and  disciples,  banish  from 
your  faces  and  your  breasts  every  expression 
and  every  thought  unworthy  of  your  honest 
companion,  and  your  upright  sect.  For  re- 
member, if  to  abhor  falsehood  and  vice  be  no- 
ble, to  distrust  truth  and  innocence  is  mean. 
My  son,  proceed."  ' 

"  Thanks  for  your  noble  confidence,  my 
master  :  it  makes  me  proud,  for  I  deserve  it 
Yes !  even  should  I,  as  I  perceive  you  appre- 
hend, be  deceived,  I  feel  that  this  open  confes- 
sion of  my  present  perfect  conviction  is  honor- 
able both  to  myself  and  to  Zeno.  —  It  proves 
that  in  his  school  I  have  learnt  candor,  though 
I  have  yet  to  learn  discernment.  And  yet, 
methinks,  however  imperfect  my  youthful  dis- 


78  A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

cernment,  it  is  not  now  in  error.  If  ever  I  saw 
siropJe,  unadorned  goodness ;  if  ever  I  heard 
simple,  unadorned  truth ;  it  is  in  —  it  is  from 
Epicurus.  Again  your  sufferance,  my  friends ! 
Again  yoiu:  sufferance,  my  master !  I  am 
not  —  I  wish  not  to  be,  a  disciple  of  the  Gar- 
dens :  virtue  may  be  in  them  —  excuse  me, 
virtue  is  in  them,  but  there  is  a  virtue  in  the 
Portico  which  I  shall  worship  to  my  latest 
hour.  Here,  here  I  first  learned  —  here  I  first 
saw  to  what  a  glorious  height  of  greatness  a 
mortal  might  ascend  —  how  independent  he 
might  be  of  fortune  ;  how  triumphant  over  fate  ! 
Young,  innocent,  and  inexperienced,  I  came  to 
Athens  in  search  of  wisdom  and  virtue.  '  At- 
tend all  the  schools,  and  fix  with  that  which 
shall  give  you  the  noblest  aims,'^  said  my 
father,  when  he  gave  me  his  parting  blessing. 
He  being  an  academician,  I  had,  of  course, 
somewhat  imbibed  the  principles  of  Plato,  and 
conceived  a  love  for  his  school :  On  first  hear- 
ing Crates,  therefore,  I  thought  myself  satis- 
fi«id.  Accident  made  me  acquainted  with  a 
young  Pythagorean :  I  Hstened  to  his  simple 
precepts ;  X  loved  his  virtues,  and  almost  fell 
into  his  superstitions.  From  these  Theophras- 
tus  awakened  me  ;  and  I  was  nearly  fixed  as 
a.  Peripatetic,  when  I  met  the  eloquent,  enthu- 
siastic Cleanthes.    He  brought,  nae  to  the  Por- 


A    FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS,  79 

tico,  where  I  found  all  the  vTrtues  of  all  the 
schools  united,  and  crowned  with  perfection. 
But  when  I  preferred  Zeno,  1  did  not  despise 
my  former  masters.  I  still  sonietimes  visit  the 
Lycaeum  and  the  Academy,  and  still  the 
young  Pythagorean  is  my  friend.  A  pure 
mind  should,  I  think,  respect  virtue  wherever 
it  be  found :  and  if  then  iti  the  Lycseum  and 
the  Academy,  why  not  the  Gardens  7  Zeno, 
in  teaching  austerity,  does  not  teach  intoler- 
ance; much  less,  1  am  sure,  does  he  teach 
ingratitude  :  and  if  I  did  not  feel  for  the  sage 
of  Gargettinm  both  respect  and  love,  I  wer^ 
the  most  ungrateful  soul  in  Athens ;  and  if 
feeling  both,  I  feared  to  acknowledge  both,  I 
were  the  meanest.  And  now,  my  brothers, 
ask  yourselves  what  would  be  your  indigna- 
tion at  the  youth,  who  for  his  vices  being  driv- 
en from  this  Portico,  should  run  to  the  Lycse- 
um, and  accuse,  to  the  sons  of  Aristotle,  our 
great  Zeno  of  that  sensuality  and  wickedness 
which  had  here  wrought  his  own  disgrace,  and 
his  own  banishment?  Would  ye  not  hate 
such  a  wretch  ?  Would  ye  not  loathe  him  1 
Would  ye  not  curse  him  7  My  brothers !  this 
day  have  1  learned  such  a  wretch  to  be  Timo- 
crates.  Is  he  here  7  —  I  hope  he  is :  I  hope 
he  hears  me  denounce  him  for  a  defamer  and 
an  in  grate." 


80  A    FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

"  'Tis  false  !  "  cried  Timocrates,  bursting  in 
fury  from  the  crowd.   "  'Tis  false  !  I  swear  "  — 

"Beware  of  perjury  !  "  said  a  clear,  silver 
voice,  from  without  the  circle.  "  Give  way, 
Athenians !  'Tis  for  me  to  take  up  this  quar- 
rel." 

The  crowd  divided.  Every  eye  turned 
towards  the  opening.  Theon  shouted  with 
triumph,  Timocrates  stood  blank  with  dis- 
may —  for  they  recognised  the  voice  and  the 
form  of  the  son  of  Neocles. 


A    FEW    DITS-  IN   ATHENSV 


CHAPTER    VII. 


Sft 


The  Sage  advanced  towards  Theon :  he  laid 
a  hand  on  either  of  his  shoulders,  and  kissed 
his  glowing  forehead.  "  Thanks  to  my  gener- 
ous defender.  Your  artless  tale,  my  son,  if  it 
have  not  gained  the  ear  of  Zeno,  hath  fixed 
the  heart  of  Epicurus.  Oh !  ever  keep  this 
candor  and  this  innocence  !  "  He  turned  his 
benign,  face  round  the  circle:  "Athenians! 
I  am  Epicurus."  This  name  so  despised  and 
execrated,  did  it  not  raise  a  tumult  in  the  as- 
sembly? No;  every  tongue  was  chained, 
every  breath  suspended,  every  eye  riveted 
with  wonder  and  admiration.  Theon  had  said 
the  truth:  it  was  the  aspect  of  a  sage  and  a 
divinity.  The  face  was  a  serene  mirror  of  a 
serene  mind :  its  expression  spoke  like  music 
to  the  soul.  Zeno's  was  not  more  calm  and 
unruffled;  but  here  was  no  severity,  no  au- 
thority, no  reserve,  no  unapproachable  majes- 
ty, no  repelling  superiority:  all  was  benevo- 
lence, mildness,  openness  and  soothing  encour- 
agement. To  see,  was  to  love ;  and  to  hear, 
was   to   trust.     Timocrates  shrunk   from  the 

4* 


^  A    FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

eye  of  his  master:  it  fell  upon  him  with  a 
fixed  and  deep  gaze,  that  struck  more  agony 
into  his  guihy  soul,  than  had  the  flash  of  a 
Cleanthes,  or  the  glance  of  a  Zeno.  The 
wretch  sunk  beneath  it :  he  trembled ;  he 
crouched ;  he  looked  as  he  v/ould  have  suppli- 
cated mercy;  but  his  tongue  cleaved  to  his 
palate,  and  shame  withheld  him  from  quite 
dropping  on  his  knees.  "  Go !  I  will  spare 
thee.  Give  way,  Athenians !  "  The  scholars 
opened  a  passage :  again  the  Sage  waved  his 
hand,  and  the  criminal  slunk  away. 

"Your  pardon,  Zeno,"  said  the  Gargettian, 
"  I  know  the  youth :  he  is  not  worthy  to 
stand  in  the  Portico." 

"I  thank  you,"  returned  the  Master,  "and 
my  disciples  thank  you.  The  gods  forbid  that 
we  should  harbor  vice,  or  distrust  virtue.  I 
see,  and  I  recant  my  error :  henceforth  if  1  can- 
not respect  the  teacher,  I  shall  respect  the 
man." 

"I  respect  both,"  said  Epicurus,  reclining 
his  head  to  the  stoic.  "  I  have  long  known 
and  admired  Zeno :  I  have  often  mixed  with 
the  crowd  in  his  Portico,  and  felt  the  might  of 
his  eloquence.  I  do  not  expect  a  similar  return 
from  him,  nor  do  I  wish  to  allure  his  scholars 
to  my  Gardens.  I  know  the  severity  of  their 
master,  and  the  austerity,  may  I  say,  the  intol- 


A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  ^ 

erance  of  his  rules.  But  for  one,"  and  he  laid 
his  hand  upon  the  head  of  Theon,  "  for  this 
one,  I  would  bespeak  clemency.  Let  not  that 
be  imputed  to  him  as  a  crime,  which  has  been 
the  work  of  accident  and  of  Epicurus :  and 
let  me  also  say  for  him,  as  well  as  for  my- 
self—  he  has  lost  in  the  Gardens  no  virtues,  if 
a  few  prejudices." 

"  Son  of  Neocles,"  said  Zeno,  "  I  feared  you 
yesterday,  but  I  fear  you  doubly  to-day.  Your 
doctrines  are  in  themselves  enticing,  but  com- 
ing from  such  lips,  I  fear  they  are  irresistible. 
Methiiiks  I  cast  a  prophet's  eye  on  the  map  of 
futurity,  and  I  see  the  sage  of  Gargettium 
standing  on  the  pinnacle  of  fame,  and  a  world 
at  his  feet.  The  world  is  prepared  for  this :  the 
Macedonian,  when  he  marched  our  legions  to 
the  conquest  of  Persia,  struck  the  death-blow 
at  Greece.  Persian  luxury,  and  Persian  effem- 
inacy, which  before  crept,  now  came  with 
strides  upon  us.  Our  youth,  dandled  on  the 
lap  of  indulgence,  shall  turn  with  sickened  ears 
from  the  severe  moral  of  Zeno,  and  greedily 
suck  in  the  honied  philosophy  of  Epicurus. 
You  will  tell  me  that  you  too  teach  virtue.  It 
may  be  so.  1  do  not  see  it ;  but  it  may  be  so. 
I  do  not  conceive  how  there  can  be  two  vir- 
tues, nor  yet  how  two  roads  to  the  same. 
This,  however,  I  shall  not  argue.     I  will  grant 


84],  A.:  FfiW-  DAjyS;  m  ATi^BJCS^ 

tJiEiit  ii>;  yovir  system,  as  elucidated  by  your 
practice,  there  may  be  something  to  admire, 
and  much  to  love ;  but  when  your  practice 
shall  be  dead,  and  your  system  alone  shall  sur- 
vive, where  then  shall  be  the.  security  of  its  in- 
nocence;—  where  the  antidote  of  its  poison? 
Think  not  that  men  shall  take  the  good  and 
not  the  evil ;  soon  they  shall  take  the  evil  and 
leave  the  good.  They  shall  do  more;  they 
shall  pervert  the  very  nature  of  the  good,  and 
m:^ke  of  the  whole,  evil  immixed.  Soon,  in 
the  shelter  of  your  bowers,  all  that  is  vicious 
shall  find  a  refuge.  Effeminacy  shall  steal  in 
i^ijder  the  name  of  ease;  sensuality  and  de- 
bauchery in  the  place  of  innocence  and  refine- 
ment; the  pleasures  of  the  body  instead  of 
those  of  the  mind.  Whatever  may  be  your 
virtues,  they  are  but  the  virtues  of  tempera- 
mjent,;  not  of  discipline ;  and  such  of  your  fol- 
lowers as  shall  be  like  you  in  temperament 
may  be  like  you  in  practice :  but  let  them  have 
boiling  passions  and  urgent  appetites,  and  your 
doctrines  shall  set  no  fence  against  the  torrent; 
shall  ring  no  alarm  to  the  offender.  Tell  us 
not  that  that  is  right  which  admits  of  evil  con- 
struction — ■  that  that  is  virtue  which  leaves  an 
open  gate  to  vice.  1  said  that  with  a  proph- 
et's eye  I  saw  your  future  fame;  but  such 
fame  as  I  foresee  can  but  ill  satisfy  the  ambi- 


A   FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  Wl 

tion  of  a  sage.  Your  Gardens  shall  be  crowd- 
ed, but  they  shall  be  disgraced ;  your  name 
shall  be  in  every  mouth,  but  every  mouth 
shall  be  unworthy  that  speaks  it;  nations  shall 
have  you  in  honor,  but  ere  it  is  so  they  shall  be 
in  ruin  :  our  degenerated  country  shall  worship 
you,  and  expire  at  your  feet.  Zeno,  meantime, 
may  be  neglected,  but  he  shall  never  be  slan- 
dered ;  the  Portico  may  be  forsaken,  but  shall 
never  be  disgraced ;  its  doctrines  may  be  dis- 
carded, but  shall  never  be  misconstrued.  I 
am  not  deceived  by  my  present  popularity. 
No  school  now  in  such  repute  as  mine ;  but 
I. know  this  will  not  last.  The  iron  and  the 
golden  ages  are  run  ;  youth  and  manhood  are 
departed ;  and  the  weakness  of  old  age  steals 
upon  the  world.  But,  Oh  !  son  of  Neocles !  in 
this  gloomy  prospect  a  proud  comfort  is  mine  : 
I  have  raised  the  last  bulwark  to  the  fainting 
virtue  of  man,  and  the  departing  glory  of  na- 
tions c  — I  have  done  more  :  when  the  virtue 
and  glory  of  nations  shall  be  dead,  and  when 
in  their  depraved  generations  some  solitary 
souls,  born  for  better  things,  shall  see  and 
mourn  the  vices  around  them,  here  in  the 
abandoned  Portico  shall  they  find  a  refuge ; 
here,  shutting  their  eyes  upon  the  world,  they 
shall  learn  to  be  a  world  to  themselves ;  — 
here,  steeled  in  fortitude,  shall  they  look  down 
in  high,  unruffled  majesty  on  the   slaves  and 


SIP  A    FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

the  tyrants  of  earth.  Epicurus !  when  thou 
canst  say  this  of  the  Gardens,  then,  and  not 
till  then,  call  thyself  a  sage  and  a  man  of  vir- 
tue." He  ceased ;  but  his  full  tones  seemed 
yet  to  sound  in  the  ears  of  his  listening  audi- 
tors. There  was  a  long  pause,  when  the  Gar- 
gettian  in  notes,  like  the  breathing  flutes  of  Ar- 
cadia, began  his  reply. 

*'  Zeno,  in  his  present  speech,  has  rested 
much  of  the  truth  of  his  system  on  its  expedi- 
ency :  I  therefore  shall  do  the  same  by  mine. 
The  door  of  my  Gardens  is  ever  open,  and  my 
books  are  in  the  hands  of  the  public  ;  to  enter 
therefore,  here,  into  the  detail  or  the  expound- 
ing of  the  principles  of  my  philosophy  were 
equally  out  of  place  and  out  of  season.  '  Tell 
us  not  that  that  is  right  which  admits  of  evil 
construction ;  —  that  that  is  virtue  which  leaves 
an  open  gate  to  vice.'  This  is  the  thrust 
which  Zeno  now  makes  at  Epicurus  ;  and  did 
it  hit,  I  grant  it  were  a  mortal  one.  From  the 
flavor,  we  pronounce  of  the  fruit ;  from  the 
beauty  and  the  fragrance,  of  the  flower ;  and 
in  a  system  of  morals,  or  of  philosophy,  or  of 
whatever  else,  what  tends  to  produce  good  we 
pronoimce  to  be  good,  what  to  produce  evil, 
we  pronounce  to  be  evil.  I  might  indeed  sup- 
port the  argument,  that  our  opinion  with  re- 
gard  to   the   first   principles    of   morals    has 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  87 

nought  to  do  with  our  practice;  — that  wheth- 
er I  stand  my  virtue  upon  prudence,  or  propri- 
ety, or  justice,  or  benevolence,  or  self-love,  that 
my  virtue  is  still  one  and  the  same  ;  —  that  the 
dispute  is  not  about  the  end,  but  the  origin ; 
that  of  all  the  thousands  who  have  yielded 
homage  to  virtue,  hardly  one  has  thought  of 
inspecting  the  pedestal  she  stands  upon ;  that 
as  the  mariner  is  guided  by  the  tides,  though 
ignorant  of  their  causes,  so  does  a  man  obey 
the  rules  of  virtue  though  ignorant  of  the  prin- 
ciples on  which  those  rules  are  founded ;  and 
that  the  knowledge  of  those  principles  would 
affect  the  conduct  of  the  man,  no  more  than 
acquaintance  with  the  causes  of  the  tides 
would  affect  the  conduct  of  the  mariner.  But 
this  I  shall  not  argue ;  in  doing  so  I  might 
seem  but  to  fight  you  flying.  I  shall  meet 
your  objection  in  the  face.  And  1  say  —  that 
allowing  the  most  powerful  effects  to  spring 
from  the  first  grounds  of  a  moral  system ;  — 
the  worst  or  the  best,  —  that  mine,  if  the  best 
is  to  be  so  judged  by  the  good  it  does  and  the 
evil  it  prevents,  must  be  ranked  among  the 
best.  If,  as  you  say,  and  I  partly  believe,  the 
iron  and  the  golden  ages  are  past,  the  youth 
and  the  manhood  of  the  world,  and  that  the 
weakness  of  old  age  is  creeping  on  ^s,  —  then, 
as  you  also  say,  our  youth,  dandled  on  the  lap 


8iB  A    FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

of  indulgence,  shall  turn  with  sickened  ears 
from  the  severe  moral  of  Zeno ;  and  then  / 
say,  that  in  the  Gardens,  and  in  the  Gardens 
only,  shall  they  find  a  food,  innocent,  yet  adapt- 
ed to  their  sickly  palates;  an  armor,  not  of 
iron  fortitude,  but  of  silken  persuasion,  that 
shall  resist  the  progress  of  their  degeneracy,  or 
throw  a  beauty  even  over  their  ruin.  But, 
perhaps,  though  Zeno  should  allow  this  last 
eiFect  of  my  philosophy  to  be  probable,  he  will 
not  approve  it :  his  severe  eye  looks  with 
scorn,  not  pity,  on  the  follies  and  vices  of  the 
world.  He  would  annihilate  them,  change 
them  to  their  opposite  virtues,  or  he  would 
leave  them  to  their  full  and  natural  sweep. 
'  Be  perfect,  or  be  as  you  are.  1  allow  of  no 
degrees  of  virtue,  so  care  not  for  the  degrees  of 
vice.  Your  ruin,  if  it  must  be,  let  it  be  in  all 
its  horrors,  in  all  its  vileness  :  let  it  attract  no 
pity,  no  sympathy:  let  it  be  seen  in  all  itS' 
naked  deformity,  and  excite  the  full  measure 
of  its  merited  abhorrence  and  disgust.'  Thus 
says  the  sublime  Zeno,  who  sees  only  man  as 
he  should  be.  Ttjus  says  the  mild  Epicurusj 
who  sees  man  as  he  is :  With  all  his  weak- 
nesses, all  his  errors,  all  his  sins,  still  owning 
fellowship  with  him,  still  rejoicing  in  his  Avel- 
fare  and  sighing  over  his  misfortunes :  I  call 
from  my  Gardens  to  the  thoughtless,  the  head- 


A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  89 

Strong,  and  the  idle.  —  '  Where  do  ye  wander, 
and  what  do  ye  seek  1  —  Is  it  pleasure  7  behold 
it  here.  Is  it  ease  1  enter  and  repose.'  Thus 
do  I  court  them  from  the  table  of  drunkenness 
and  the  bed  of  licentiousness  :  I  gently  awaken 
their  sleeping  faculties,  and  draw  the  veil  from 
their  understandings.  '  My  sons  !  do  you  seek 
pleasure  7  I  seek  her  also.  Let  us  make  the 
search  together.  You  have  tried  wine,  you 
have  tried  love ;  you  have  sought  amusement 
in  revelling,  and  forgetfulness  in  indolence. 
You  tell  me  you  are  disappointed :  that  your 
passions  grew,  even  while  you  gratified  them ; 
your  weariness  increased  even  while  you  slept. 
Let  us  try  again.  Let  us  quiet  our  passions, 
not  by  gratifying,  but  subduing  them ;  let  us 
conquer  our  weariness,  not  by  rest,  but  by  ex- 
ertion.' Thus  do  I  win  their  ears  and  their 
confidence.  Step  by  step  I  lead  them  on.  I 
lay  open  the  mysteries  of  science ;  I  expose  the 
beauties  of  art ;  I  call  the  graces  and  the  muses 
to  my  aid ;  the  song,  the  lyre,  and  the  dance. 
Temperance  presides  at  the  repast ;  innocence, 
at  the  festival ;  disgust  is  changed  to  satisfac- 
tion ;  listlessness,  to  curiosity ;  brutality,  to  el- 
egance; lust  gives  place  to  love;  Bacchanalian 
hilarity  to  friendship.  Tell  me  not,  Zeno,  that 
the  teacher  is  vicious  who  washes  depravity 
from  the  youthful  heart ;  who  lays  the  storm 


99  A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

of  its  passions,  and  turns  all  its  sensibilities  to 
good.  I  grant  that  I  do  not  look  to  make  men 
happy.  To  teach  them  that  in  the  discharge 
of  their  duties  as  sons,  as  husbands,  as  fathers, 
as  citizens,  lies  their  pleasure  and  their  inter- 
est ;  —  and  when  the  sublime  motives  of  Zeno 
shall  cease  to  affect  an  enervated  generation, 
the  gentle  persuasions  of  Epicurus  shall  still  be 
heard  and  obeyed.  But  you  warn  me  that  I 
shall  be  slandered,  my  doctrines  misinterpret- 
ed, and  my  school  and  my  name  disgraced.  I 
doubt  it  not.  What  teacher  is  safe  from  ma- 
levolence, what  system  from  misconstruction  ] 
And  does  Zeno  really  think  himself  and  his 
doctrines  secure  1  He  knows  not,  then,  man's 
ignorance  and  man's  folly.  Some  few  genera- 
tions, when  the  amiable  virtues  of  Epicurus, 
and  the  sublime  excellence  of  Zeno  shall  live 
no  longer  in  remembrance  or  tradition,  the 
fierce  or  ambitious  bigots  of  some  new  sect 
may  alike  calumniate  both  ;  proclaim  the  one 
for  a  libertine,  and  the  other  for  a  hypocrite. 
But  I  will  allow  that  I  am  more  open  to  de- 
traction than  Zeno:  that  while  your  school 
shall  be  abandoned,  mine  shall  more  probably 
be  disgraced.  But  it  will  be  the  same  cause  that 
produces  the  two  effects.  It  will  be  equally 
the  degeneracy  of  man  that  shall  cause  the 
discardmg  of  your  doctrines,  and  the  perver- 


A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  91 

sion  of  mine.  Why  then  should  the  prospect 
of  the  future  disturb  Epicurus  more  than  Ze- 
no  7  The  fault  will  not  lie  with  me  any  more 
than  you  ;  but  with  the  vices  of  my  followers, 
and  the  ignorance  of  my  judges.  I  follow  my 
course,  guided  by  what  I  believe  to  be  wis- 
dom; with  the  good  of  man  at  my  heart, 
adapting  my  advice  to  his  situation,  his  dispo- 
sition, and  his  capacities.  My  efforts  may  be 
unsuccessful,  my  intentions  may  be  calumniat- 
ed ;  but  as  I  know  these  to  be  benevolent,  so 
I  shall  continue  these,  unterrified  and  unruffled 
by  reproaches,  unchilled  by  occasional  ingrati- 
tude and  frequent  disappointment."  He  ceas- 
ed, and  again  laying  his  hand  on  the  shoulder 
of  Theon,  led  him  to  his  Master.  "  I  ask  not 
Zeno  to  admire  me  as  a  teacher,  but  let  him 
not  blame  this  scholar  for  loving  me  as  a 
man." 

"1  shall  not  blame  him,"  said  the  Stoic, 
"  but  I  wish  that  1  may  not  soon  distrust  him. 
I  wish  he  may  not  soon  forget  Zeno,  and  for- 
sake the  Portico." 

The  shades  of  evening  now  fell  on  the  city, 
and  the  assembly  divided. 


A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


The  sun  was  in  its  fervor,  when  Theon 
issued  from  one  ctf  the  pubHc  baths.  He  was 
not  disposed  for  rest,  yet  the  heat  of  the  streets 
was  insuiferable.  "  I  will  seek  the  Gardens," 
he  thought,  "  and  loiter  in  their  cool  shades 
until  the  Master  join  me."  Reaching  the 
house  of  the  Gargettian,  and  the  entrance  to 
the  Gardens  being -shorter  through  it  than  by 
the  public  gate,  he  entered,  and  sought  the  pas- 
sage he  had  before  traversed.  He  however 
took  a  wrong  one,  and,  after  wandering  for 
some  time,  opened  a  door,  and  found  himself 
in  a  library.  Epicurus  was  sitting  in  deep 
study,  with  his  tablets  before  him ;  his  pen  in 
one  hand,  his  forehead  supported  on  the  other. 
Metrodorus,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room, 
was  engaged  in  transcribing. 

Theon  stopped,  and,  making  a  short  apolo- 
gy, hastily  retired.  "  Stay  !  "  cried  the  Mas- 
ter. Theon  again  entered,  but  did  not  ad- 
vance much  within  the  threshhold. 

"  When  I  bade  you  stay,  I  did  not  mean  to 
fix  you  as  doorkeeper.     Come  in,  and  shut  the 


A   FEW   DATS    IN   ATHENS.  ^ 

door  behind  you."  Theon  joyfully  obeyed; 
and  hurried  to  seize  the  extended  hand  of  the 
sage.  "  Since  you  have  intruded  on  the  sanc- 
tuary, I  shall  not  drive  you  out."  He  motion- 
ed the  youth  to  a  place  on  his  couch.  "  And 
now,  what  pretty  things  am  I  to  say  to  you  for 
your  yesterday's  defence  of  the  wicked  Gar- 
gettian  ?  You  should  have  come  home  Avith 
me  last  night,  when  we  were  both  hot  from  the 
combat,  and  then  I  could  have  made  you  an 
eloquent  compliment  in  full  assembly  at  the 
Symposium,  and  you  would  as  eloquently 
have  disclaimed  it  with  one  of  your  modest 
blushes." 

"  Then,  truly,  if  the  Master  had  such  an  in- 
tention, I  am  very  glad  I  did  not  follow  him. 
But  I  passed  the  evening  at  my  own  lodgings, 
with  my  friend  Clean thes." 

"  Trying  to  talk  him  into  good  humor  and 
charity,  was  if?" 

"  Something  so." 

"  And  you  succeeded  1 " 

"  Why,  I  don't  know ;  he  did  not  leave  me 
in  worse  humor  than  he  came."  ' 

"Nay,  then  it  must  have  been  in  better. 
Explanation  always  approaches  or  widens  the 
differences  between  friends." 

"Yes,  "but  we  also  entered  into  argument." 

"  Dangerous  ground  that,  to  be  sure.     And 


04 


A    FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 


your  fight,  of  course,  ended  in  a  drawn  Isat- 
tle  7  " 

"  You  pay  me  more  than  a  merited  compli- 
ment, in  concluding  that  to  be  a  thing  of 
course." 

"  Nay,  your  pardon  !  I  pay  you  any  thing 
but  a  compliment.  It  is  not  that  I  conclude 
your  rhetoric  and  your  logic  equal,  but  your 
obstinacy  and  your  vanity." 

"  Do  you  know,  I  don't  think  myself  either 
obstinate  or  vain,"  said  Theon,  smiling. 

"  Had  I  supposed  you  did,  I  might  not  have 
seen  occasion  to  give  you  the  information." 

"  But  on  what  grounds  do  you  think  me 
obstinate  and  vain  ?  " 

"  Your  years ;  your  years.  And  do  you 
think  there  is  a  man  under  twenty  that  is  not 
both?" 

"  Why,  I  should  think  an  old  man,  at  least, 
more  obstinate  than  a  young  one." 

"I  grant  you  when  he  is  obstinate,  which  is 
pretty  often,  but  not  quite  always ;  and  when 
he  is  vain,  the  same.  But  whilst  many  old 
men  have  vanity  and  obstinacy  in  the  superla- 
tive degree,  all  young  men  have  those  quali- 
ties in  the  positive.  I  believe  your  share  to  be 
tolerably  moderate,  but  do  not  suppose  that 
you  have  no  share  at  all.  Well,  and  now  tell 
me,  was  it  not  a  drawn  battle  7  " 


A   FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS.  95 

"I  confess  it  was.  At  least,  we  neither  of 
us  convinced  the  other." 

"  My  son,  it  would  have  added  one  more  to 
the  seven  wonders-  if  you  had.  I  incline  to 
doubt,  if  two  men,  in  the  course  of  an  olym- 
piad, enter  on  an  argument  from  the  honest 
and  single  desire  of  coming  at  the  truth,  or  if, 
in  the  course  of  a  century,  one  man  comes 
from  an  argument  convinced  by  his  oppo- 
nent." 

"Well,  then,  if  you  will  allow  me  no  credit 
for  not  being  convinced,  you  may  at  least  for 
my  not  being  silenced,  I,  so  young  an  arguer, 
and  Cleanthes  so  practised  a  one  !  " 

"  You  broke  the  ice  beforehand  yesterday  in 
the  Portico,"  said  the  Philosopher,  tapping  his 
shoulder.  "After  that  generous  instance  of 
confidence,  I  shall  not  marvel  if  you  now  find 
a  tongue  upon  all  proper  occasions.  And  trust 
me,  the  breaking  of  the  ice  is  a  very  impor- 
tant matter.  Many  an  orator  has  made  but 
one  spring  to  the  land,  and  his  legs,  after  he 
had  taken  courage  to  make  the  first  stroke. 
Cleanthes  himself  found  this.  You  know  his 
history  ?  He  first  appeared  in  Athens  as  a 
wrestler,  a  stranger  to  philosophy  and  learning 
of  all  kinds.  In  our  streets,  however,  the 
buzz  of  it  could  not  fail  to  reach  him.  He  ran 
full  speed  into  the  school  of  Crates.     His  curi- 


96  A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

osity,  joined  to  his  complete  ignorance,  gave 
him  so  singular  an  appearance,  and  produced 
from  him  so  many  simple  questions,  and  blun- 
dering replies,  that  he  received  from  his  fellow 
disciples  the  nickname  of  the  Ass.  But  the  Ass 
persevered,  and  soon  after,  entering  the  Portico 
he  applied  with  such  intense  diligence  to  the 
unravelling  the  mysteries  of  Zeno's  philoso- 
phy, that  he  speedily  secured  the  esteem  of  his 
Master,  and  the  respect  of  his  companions. 
But  his  timidity  was  for  some  time  extreme, 
and  probably  nothing  but  a  sudden  excitement 
could  have  enabled  him  to  break  through  it. 
This,  however,  accidentally  occurred,  and  he 
is  now  the  ready  and  powerful  orator  that  you 
know  him." 

"  I  have  often  heard,"  said  Theon,  "  and  real- 
ly not  without  some  scepticism,  the  change 
that  a  few  years  have  wrought  in  Clean- 
thes;  —  a  brawny  wrestler  I  who  could  believe 
it?  and  a  dull,  ignorant  Barbarian  !  " 

"  The  world  always  adds  marvel  to  the 
marvellous.  A  brawny  wrestler  he  never  was ; 
though  certainly  something  stouter  and  squar- 
er  in  person  than  he  is  now ;  and  though  igno- 
rant, he  was  not  dull.  Intense  application, 
and  some  say,  the  fasting  of  poverty,  as  well 
as  temperance,  rapidly  reduced  his  body,  and 
spiritualized  his  mind." 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  '     S[J 


''  The  fasting  of  poverty !  "  ^cried  Theon, 
"  do  you  believe  this  ?  ** ,;'^;';,  ' '"  r^^''   '  .  ''1^ 

"I  fear  it  is  possible,"  returned  the  MaLStei*. 
"At  least  it  is  asserted  that  he  possessed  but 
four  drachms  when  he  left  the  school  of  wres- 
tling for  that  of  philosophy ;  and  it  does  not 
well  appear  that  he  now  follows  any  other 
trade  than  that  of  a  scholar ;  one  which  cer- 
tainly brings  very  little  nourishment  to  the 
body,  whatever  it  might  do  to  the  mmd." 

"  But  his  Master;  do  you  think  Zeno  would 
suffer  him  to  want  the  necessaries  of  life  ?  " 

"  The  actual  necessaries,  somehow  or  other, 
he  certainly  has ;  but  I  can  believe  he  will 
make  very  few  serve,  and  procure  those  few 
with  some  difficulty,  rather  than  be  indebted 
even  to  his  Master."  ; 

"  Or  his  friend !  "  said  Theon. 

,"Nay,  remember,  you  are  not  a  friend  of 
very  long  standing,  and  something  his  junior 
in  years." 

"  But  should  that  prevent  him  from  giving 
me  his  confidence  on  such  an  occasion?" 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  allow  something  to  the 
Stoic  pride." 

"  I  can  allow  nothing  to  it  here." 

"No,  because  it  touches  your  own.  ^Thus 
do  I  tread  on  the  pride  of  Plato ^  said  Dioge- 


98  A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

nes,  setting  his  foot  on  the  robe  of  the  Aca- 
demic. '  Ye5,  with  the  greater  pride  of  Dio- 
genes,' returned  Plato.  But  1  have  made  vou 
grave,  which  was  not  my  intention.  Metrodo- 
rus,  how  go  you  on7  " 

"  Writing  the  last  word.  —  There !  —  And 
now,"  rising  and  advancing  towards  Theon, 
"let  me  embrace  the  youth  who  so  nobly  took 
up  the  vindication  of  my  insulted  Master. 
Perhaps  you  may  not  know  how  peculiarly  I 
am  indebted  to  you.  Timocrates  is  the  broth- 
er of  Metrodorus." 
^  "How!" 
,    "  1  blush  to  own  it." 

"  You  need  not  blush,  my  loved  son ;  you 
have  done  more  than  a  brother's  duty  towards 
him,  and  more  than  a  disciple's  duty  towards 
me.  I  suppose,"  turning  to  Theon,  "  as  you 
are  a  Stoic,  you  have  not  read  the  able  treati- 
ses of  Metrodorus  in  support  of  my  doctrines, 
and  defence  of  my  character.  In  the  last,  in- 
deed, he  has  done  more  than  I  wished." 

"  I  own  I  have  not,  but  I  will  read  them." 

"  What !  in  the  face  of  Zeno  1 " 

"  Aye,  and  of  the  whole  Portico." 

"We  need  not  doubt  the  young  Corinthian's 
courage,"  said  Metrodorus,  "  after  his  noble 
confidence  yesterday." 

"  I  see  the  Master  has  not  been  silent  "  re- 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  »«[ 

turned  Theon,  "and  that  he  has  given  me 
more  praise  than  is  my  due." 

"  Metrodorus  can  tell  you  that  is  not  my 
custom,"  said  the  Gargettian.  "  By  Pollux ! 
if  you  continue  your  visits  to  the  Garden,  you 
must  look  to  be  handled  very  roughly.  I  aim 
the  blow  at  every  fault  I  see ;  and  I  have  a 
very  acute  pair  of  eyes.  I  find  out  the  most 
secret  sins,  —  turn  the  souls  of  my  scholars  in- 
side out ;  so  be  warned  in  time  !  " 

"  I  do  not  fear  you,"  returned  the  Corinth- 
ian. ! 

"Not  fear  me,  you  rogue ?  " 

"  No,  I  love  you  too  well.  But,"  continued 
Theon,  "let  me  now  make  my  acknowedg- 
ments  to  the  Master  for  his  coming  forward  so 
seasonably  yesterday,  and  giving  me  the  victo- 
ry. How  you  astonished  me  !  I  almost  took 
you  a  second  time  for  a  divinity." 

"I  will  tell  you  how  it  happened,"  returned 
Epicurus:  "Chancing  to  be  called  into  the 
street  yesterday,  just  after  you  left  the  house, 
I  saw  your  meeting  with  Cleanthes;  and 
guessing  from  his  first  address,  that  you  would 
have  to  stand  a  siege,  I  followed  you  to  the 
Portico,  and  took  my  place,  unnoticed,  among 
the  crowd,  ready,  if  occasion  should  require,  to 
offer  my  succor." 

"  And  you  heard  then  all  that  passed?  "      ^ 


100  JL  FEW   DAYS  IN   ATHENS. 

t,.  "Idid." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  the  digression,"  said 
Theon  ;  "but  I  think  you  have  more  forbear- 
ance and  more  candor  than  any  man  I  ever 
heard  of." 

^'  If  it  be  so,  these  useful  quahties  have  not 
been  attained  witliout  much  study  and  disci- 
pline ;  for  Zeno  is  mistaken  in  thinking  all  my 
virtues  the  children  of  temperament,  1  very 
early  perceived  candor  to  be  the  quality  the 
most  indispensable  in  the  composition  of  a  phi- 
losopher, and  therefore  very  early  set  my 
whole  efforts  to  the  attaining  of  it.  And  when 
once  I  fairly  engaged  in  the  work,  I  did  not 
find  it  either  long  or  difficult  I  had  naturally 
a  mild  temper,  and  a  sensitive  heart,  and  these 
gifts  were  here  of  inconceivable  use  to  me. 
Feeling  kindly  towards  my  fellow-creatures,  I 
could  the  easier  learn  to  pity  rather  than  hate 
their  faults ;  to  smile,  rather  than  frown  at 
their  follies.  —  This  was  a  great  step  gained, 
but  the  next  was  more  difficult  —  to  be  slow 
in  pronouncing  what  is  a  fault,  and  what  is  a 
folly.  Our  superstition  would  haunt  with  the 
furies  the  man  who  should  take  his  sister  to 
wife,  while  the  customs  of  Egypt  would  com- 
mend him.  How  has  tbe  astronomer  been 
laughed  at,  who  made  the  earth  revolve  round 
the  stationary  sun ;  and  yet  who  can  say  but 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS^  101 

the  age  may  come,  when  this  shall  be  estab* 
lished  as  a  truth  7  Prejudices,  when  once  seen 
as  prejudices,  are  easily  yielded.  The  diffi- 
culty is  to  come  at  the  knowledge  of  them.  A 
thousand  lectures  had  I  read  to  myself,  ere  I 
could  calmly  say,  upon  all  occasions,  It  does 
not  follow  that  the  thing  is,  because  I  thifik  it 
is  ;  and  till  I  could  say  this,  I  never  presumed 
to  call  myself  a  philosopher.  When  I  had 
schooled  myself  into  candor,  I  found  I  was  pos- 
sessed of  forbearance ;  for,  indeed,  it  is  hardly 
possible  to  possess  the  one  without  the  other." 
"  I  cannot  understand,"  said  Theon,  "  how, 
with  your  mildness,  your  candor,  and  your 
good  humor,  you  have  so  many  enemies." 
"Am  I  not  the  founder  of  a  new  sect?  "  ^ 
"  Yes,  but  so  have  been  many  others." 
"And  you  think  I  have  more  enemies  than 
any  7  If  it  be  so,  perhaps  in  those  peaceable 
qualities  you  have  enumerated,  you  may  seek 
the  cause.  Remember  the  Cynics  and  Stoics, 
(and  I  believe  most  of  my  enemies  are  either 
among  them,  or  of  their  making,)  do  you  think 
any  of  those  three  unprcsuming  virtues  would 
secure  their  approbation  7  They  do  not  love 
to  see  a  man  take  the  place  of  a  philosopher, 
without  the  airs  of  one,  and,  as  you  may  per- 
ceive, 1  want  these  most  entirely.  Then  you 
must  remember  also  my  popularity ;  for  o 


102  A  FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

course  my  mildness,  candor,  and  good  humor, 
along  with  other  agreeable  virtues  which  shall 
be  nameless,  help  to  secure  me  a  thousand 
friends ;  and  he  who  has  many  friends,  must 
have  many  enemies,  for  you  know  he  must  be 
the  mark  of  envy,  jealousy,  and  spleen." 

"  I  cannot  endure  to  think  that  it  should  be 
so,"  said  Theon. 

"  Much  less  can  1,"  said  Metrodorus. 

"My  sons,  never  pity  the  man  who  can 
count  more  than  a  friend  for  every  enemy,  and 
I  do  believe  that  I  can  do  this !  Yes,  my 
young  Stoic,  Zeno  may  have  fewer  enemies, 
and  as  many  disciples,  but  I  doubt  if  he  have 
so  many  devoted  children  as  Epicurus." 

"I  know  he  has  not,"  cried  Metrodorus, 
curling  his  lip  in  proud  scorn. 

"You  need  not  look  so  fierce  upon  your 
knowledge,"  said  the  Master,  smiling. 

"  You  are  too  mild,  too  candid,"  returned 
the  scholar,  "  and  that  is  your  only  fault." 

"  Then  I  am  a  most  faultless  person,  and  I 
only  wish  I  could  return  the  compliment  to 
Metrodorus,  but  his  lip  curls  too  much,  and  his 
cheeks  are  too  apt  to  kindle." 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,"  said  the  scholar. 

"  Then  why  not  mend  it?  " 

"  Because  I  am  not  at  all  sure,  but  that  it  is 
better  unmended.     If  you  would  but  turn  more 


A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  103 

fiercely  upon  your  enemies,  or  let  me  do  so  for 
you,  they  would  respect  you  more,  for  they 
would  fear  you  more." 

"  But  as  I  am  not  a  god,  nor  a  king,  nor  a 
soldier,  I  have  no  claim  to  fear ;  and  as  I  am  a 
philosopher,  I  have  no  wish  for  it.  Then,  as 
to  respect,  do  yoir  really  think  yourself  more 
worthy  of  it  than  your  Master  1 " 

"  Nay,"  said  Metrodorus,  blushing,  "  that  is 
too  severe  a  rub." 

"Grant  that  it  was  merited.  No,  no,  my 
son,  we  will  convince  all  we  can,  we  will 
silence  as  few  as  possible,  and  we  will  terrify 
none." 

"Remember  the  exit  of  Timocrates,"  said 
Theon,  "  was  not  that  made  in  terror?" 

"  Yes ;  but  it  was  the  work  of  his  conscience, 
not  of  my  eyes ;  if  the  first  had  been  silent,  I 
imagine  he  would  have  stood  the  last  very 
well." 

"  Do  not  name  the  wretch,"  cried  Metrodo- 
rus indignantly.  "  Oh !  my  young  Corinthian, 
did  you  know  all  the  patience  and  forbearance 
that  his  Master  had  shown  towards  him,  all 
the  pains  he  took  with  him,  the  gentleness  with 
which  he  admonished  him,  the  seriousness 
with  which  he  warned  him,  the  thousand 
times  that  he  forgave  him ;  and  then  at  last, 
when  he  dared  to  insult  his  Master's  adopted 


104  [  A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

child,  the  lovely  Hedeia,  and  the  indignant  dis- 
ciples thrust  him  from  the  Gardens,  he  goes  to 
our  enemies,  the  enemies  of  his  Master,  and 
feeds  their  malice  with  infernal  lies.  Curses 
of  the  furies  on  the  wretch  !  " 

"Fie!  how  darestthou?"  said  Epicurus, 
thrusting  his  scholar  indignantly  from  him. 
"  Thy  anger  is  unworthy  of  a  man,  how  much 
then  of  a  brother !  Go,  and  recollect  thyself, 
my  son ! "  softening  his  voice,  as  he  saw  a 
tear  in  Metrodorus's  eye.  —  "  The  Corinthian 
will  accompany  you  to  the  Gardens,  I  will  join 
you  when  1  have  concluded  this  treatise."  — 
Metrodorus  took  the  arm  of  Theon,  and  they 
left  the  apartment. 


A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  1Q5 


CHAPTER    IX. 


"Do  not,"  said  Metrodorus  to  Tlieon, 
"  take  me  as  the  best  sample  of  the  pupils  of 
Epicurus.  We  are  not  all  so  hot  brained  and 
hot  tongued." 

"  Nay!  "  returned  his  companion,  "  I  am  too 
young  in  philosophy  to  blame  your  warmth. 
In  your  place,  I  should  have  been  as  hot  my- 
self." 

''I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  I  hke  you  the  better 
for  the  sentiment.  But  the  sun  scorches  dread- 
fully, let  us  seek  shelter." 

They  turned  into  a  thicket,  and  proceeding 
some  way,  caught  on  the  still  air  the  notes  of  a 
flute.  They  advanced  and  came  to  a  beauti- 
ful bank  of  verdure,  bordered  by  the  river,  and 
shadowed  by  a  group  of  thick  and  wide 
spreading  oaks.  "  It  is  Leontium,"  said  Me- 
trodorus. "  No  other  in  Attica  can  breathe  the 
flute  so  sweetly."  They  turned  one  of  the 
trunks,  and  found  her  lying  on  the  turf;  her 
shoulder  leaning  against  a  tree,  and  her  figure 
raised  on  one  elbow.  Beside  her  was  seated 
the  black  eyed   girl,  whom  Theon  had  before 

5* 


106  A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

seen;  her  taper  fingers  twining  into  a  wreath 
the  scented  flowers,  which  were  lightly  thrown 
into  her  lap  by  the  gay  Sofron,  who  stood  at 
some  distance  among  the  shrubs." 

"  Enough !  enough !  "  said  the  gentle  voice 
of  the  girl,  as  the  youth  shook  down  in  show- 
ers the  leaves  and  nectareous  odors  of  the  over- 
ripe blossoms.  "Enough!  enough!  stay  thy 
hand,  thou  heedless  ravager !  " 

"  Thank  thee  for  thy  words,  although  they 
chide  me,"  said  the  boy,  letting  go  the  bough 
which  he  had  just  seized,  with  a  bound,  light 
as  that  of  the  shrub  when  it  sprung  upward 
from  his  hand.  "  Thou  hast  but  one  feeling  in 
thy  soul,  Boidion  ;  and  thy  nature  belies  the 
sunny  clime  which  saw  its  birth.  Friendship 
is  all  to  thee,  and  that  friendship  is  but  for 
one." 

"In  truth,  thou  repayest  his  cares  but 
coldly,"  said  Leontium,  taking  the  pipe  from 
her  mouth,  and  smiling  on  the  dark  haired 
maiden. 

"  But  I  repay  not  thine  coldly,"  said  Boid- 
ion, kissing  the  hand  of  her  friend. 

"I  am  well  punished  for  the  neglect  of  my 
morning's  lecture,"  said  Sofron  impatiently,  as 
he  snatched  his  book  from  the  ground,  and 
turned  away. 

"  Part  not  in  anger,   brother  !  "  exclaime 


•A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  107 

Boidion.  But  the  youth  had  vanished,  and  in 
his  place,  Metrodorus  and  Theon  stood  before 
^her. 

The  startled  girl  was  about  to  rise,  when 
Leontium  laying  her  hand  on  her  arm,  ''  Rest 
thee,  thou  timid  fawn,"  and  the  maiden  re- 
sumed her  seat. 

"  I  rejoice,"  said  Theon,  as  he  placed  him- 
self with  Metrodorus  by  the  side  of  Leontium, 
and  took  up  the  pipe  which  had  fallen  from 
her  hand,  "  I  rejoice  to  find  this  little  instru- 
ment restored  to  Athens." 

"  Say  not  restored  to  Athens,"  returned  Le- 
ontium, "only  admitted  into  the  Garden.  I 
doubt  our  vain  youth  still  remember  the  curse 
of  Alcibiades,  and  looking  in  their  mirror,  vow 
that  none  but  fools  would  play  on  it." 

"This  recalls  to  me,"  said  Theon,  "that  I 
have  heard,  among  the  various  reports  con- 
cerning the  Garden  current  in  the  mouths  of 
the  Athenians,  very  contradictory  ones  as  to 
the  place  allowed  in  it  to  the  sciences  and  lib- 
eral arts,  and  to  music  in  particular." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Metrodorus,  "  that  you 
heard  our  whole  employment  was  eating, 
drinking,  and  rioting  in  all  licentiousness." 
*  "  True  I  did  hear  so ;  and  I  fear  I  must  con-, 
fess,  half  believed  it.  But  I  also  heard  your 
licentiousness    described    in    various    ways; 


108       .  A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

sometimes  as  grossly  sensual,  enlivened  by  no 
elegancies  of  art ;  veiled,  adorned,  if  I  may 
use  the  expression,  by  no  refinement.  In 
short,  that  Epicurus  laughed  as  well  at  the  fine 
arts  as  the  grave  sciences.  From  others  again, 
I  learned  that  music,  dancing,  poetry,  and 
painting  were  pressed  into  the  service  of  his 
philosophy;  that  Leontium  strung  the  lyre, 
Metrodorus  the  harp,  Hedeia  moved  in  the 
dance,  Boidion  raised  the  song  to  Venus;  that 
his  halls  were  covered  with  voluptuous  pic- 
tures, the  walks  of  his  gardens  lined  with  in- 
decent statues." 

"  And  you  may  now  perceive  the  truth,"  re- 
plied Metrodorus,  "  with  your  own  eyes  and 
ears." 

"But,"  said  Leontium,  "  the  young  Corin- 
thian may  be  curious  to  know  the  sentiments 
of  our  Master,  and  his  advice  regarding  the 
pursuit  of  the  sciences  and  the  liberal  arts.  I 
can  readily  perceive,"  addressing  herself  to 
Theon,  "the  origin  of  the  two  contradictory 
reports  you  have  just  mentioned.  The  first 
you  would  hear  from  the  followers  of  Aristip- 
pus,  who,  though  not  acknowledging  the  name, 
follow  the  tetiets  of  his  philosophy,  and  have 
long  been  very  numerous  in  our  degenerate 
city.  These,  because  Epicurus  recommends 
but  a  moderate  culture  of  those  arts,  which  by 


.   A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  109 

them  are  too  often  made  the  elegant  incentives 
to  Hcentious  pleasure,  accuse  him  of  neglect- 
ing them  altogether.  The  Cynics,  and  other 
austere  sects,  who  condemn  all  that  ministers 
to  the  luxury,  ease,  or  recreation  of  man,  exag- 
gerate his  moderate  use  of  these  arts  into  a 
vicious  encouragement  of  voluptuousness  and 
effeminacy.  You  will  perceive,  therefore,  that 
between  the  two  reports  lies  the  truth.  Every 
innocent  recreation  is  permitted  in  the  Garden. 
It  is  not  poetry,  but  licentious  poetry,  that  Ep- 
icurus condemns;  not  music,  but  voluptuous 
music ;  not  painting,  but  licentious  pictures ; 
not  dancing,  but  loose  gestures.  Yet  thus  he 
displeases  alike  the  profligate  and  the  austere, 
for  these  he  is  too  moderate,  and  for  those  too 
severe.  With  regard  to  the  sciences,  if  it  be 
said,  that  they  are  neglected  among  us,  I  do 
not  say  that  our  Master,  though  himself  versed 
in  them,  as  in  all  other  branches  of  knowledge, 
greatly  recommends  them  to  our  study.  But 
that  they  are  not  unknown,  let  Polyoenus  be 
evidence.  He,  one  of  the  most  amiable  men 
of  our  school,  and  one  most  highly  favored  by 
our  Master,  you  must  have  heard  mentioned 
throughout  Greece  as  a  profound  geometri- 
cian." 
1    "Yes,"  replied  Theon ;  "but  I  have  also 


110  A   FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

heard,  that  since  entering  the  Garden,  he  has 
ceased  to  respect  his  science." 

''I  am  not  aware  of  that,"  said  Leontium, 
"  though  I  beheve  he  no  longer  devotes  to  it 
all  his  time,  and  all  his  faculties.  Epicurus 
called  him  from  his  diagrams,  to  open  to  him 
the  secrets  of  physics,  and  the  beauties  of  eth- 
ics ;  to  show  him  the  springs  of  human  action, 
and  lead  him  to  the  study  of  the  human  mind. 
He  taught  him  that  any  single  study,  however 
useful  and  noble  in  itself,  was  yet  unworthy 
the  entire  employ  of  a  curious  and  powerful 
intellect :  that  the  man  who  pursued  one  line 
of  knowledge,  to  the  exclusion  of  others, 
though  he  should  follow  it  up  to  its  very  head, 
would  never  be  either  learned  or  wise  :  that  he 
who  pursues  knowledge,  should  think  no 
branch  of  it  unworthy  attention ;  least  of  all, 
should  he  confine  it  to  those  which  are  uncon- 
nected with  the  business,  and  add  nothing  to 
the  pleasures  of  life  :  that  further  not  our  ac- 
quaintance with  ourselves,  nor  our  fellows ; 
that  tend  not  to  enlarge  the  sphere  of  our  affec- 
tions, to  multiply  our  ideas  and  sensations,  nor 
extend  the  scope  of  our  inquiries.  On  this 
ground,  he  blamed  the  devotion  of  Polyoenus 
to  a  science  that  leads  to  other  truths  than 
those  of  virtue,  to  other  study  than  that  of 
man." 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  Ill 

"I  am  obliged  to  you  for  the  explanation," 
said  Theon;  "not  because  I  could  any  longer 
have  given  credit  to  the  absurd  reports  of  your 
Master's  enemies ;  but  because  whatever  opens 
to  me  the  character  and  opinions  of  such  a 
man,  interests  and  improves  me." 

"  You  will  find  this,"  said  Metrodorus,  "  the 
more  you  consider  them.  The  life  of  Epicurus 
is  a  lesson  of  wisdom.  It  is  by  example,  even 
more  than  precept,  that  he  guides  his  disciples. 
Without  issuing  commands,  he  rules  despoti- 
cally. His  wishes  are  divined,  and  obeyed  as 
laws ;  his  opinions  are  repeated  as  oracles ;  his 
doctrines  adopted  as  demonstrated  truths.  All 
is  unanimity  in  the  Garden.  We  are  a  family 
of  brothers,  of  which  Epicurus  is  the  father. 
And  I  say  not  this  in  the  praise  of  the  scholars, 
but  the  Master.  Many  of  us  have  had  bad 
habits,  many  of  us  evil  propensities,  many  of 
us  violent  passions.  That  our  habits  are  cor- 
rected, our  propensities  changed,  our  passions 
restrained,  lies  all  with  Epicurus.  What  I 
myself  owe  him,  none  but  myself  know.  The 
giddy  follower  of  licentious  pleasure,  the  head- 
strong victim  of  my  passions,  he  has  made  me 
taste  of  the  sweets  of  innocence,  and  brought 
me  into  the  calm  of  philosophy.  It  is  thus — 
thus,  by  rendering  us  happy,  that  he  lays  us  at 
his  feet,  —  thus  that  he  gains,   and  holds  the 


112  A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS. 

empire  of  our  minds,  —  thus  that  by  provmg 
himself  our  friend,  he  secures  our  respect,  our 
submission,  and  our  love.  He  cannot  but 
know  his  power,  yet  he  exerts  it  in  no  other 
way,  than  to  mend  our  lives,  or  to  keep  them 
innocent.  In  argument,  as  you  may  have  ob- 
served, he  always  seeks  to  convince  rather 
than  sway.  He  is  as  free  from  arrogance  as 
from  duplicity;  he  would  neither  force  an 
opinion  on  the  mind,  nor  conceal  from  it  a 
truth.  Ask  his  advice,  and  it  is  ever  ready,  — 
his  opinion,  and  he  gives  it  clearly.  Free  from 
prejudice  himself,  he  is  tender  to  that  of 
others ;  yet  no  fear  of  censure,  or  desire  of  pop- 
ularity, ever  leads  him  to  humor  it,  either  in 
his  lessons,  or  his  writings.  Candor,  as  you 
have  already  remarked,  is  the  prominent  fea- 
ture of  his  mind ;  it  is  the  crown  of  his  perfect 
character.  — 1  say  this,  my  young  Corinthian, 
who  know  him.  His  soul,  indeed,  is  open  to 
all ;  but  I  have  approached  very  near  it,  and 
considered  its  inmost  recesses.  Yes,  I  am 
proud  to  say  it  —  I  am  one  of  those  he  has 
drawn  most  closely  into  his  intimacy.  With 
all  my  imperfections  and  errors,  he  has  adopted 
me  as  a  son ;  and,  inferior  as  I  am  in  years, 
wisdom,  and  virtue,  he  deigns  to  call  me  his 
friend." 
.    Tears  here  filled  the  eyes  of  the  scholar ;  — 


A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  113 

he  seemed  about  to  resume,  when  a  shght 
sound  made  the  party  turn  their  heads,  and 
they  saw  the  Master  at  their  side.  —  "  Do  not 
rise,  my  children,  I  will  seat  myself  among 
you."  Theon  perceived  he  had  heard  the 
closing  sentence  of  Metrodorus,  for  the  water 
glistened  in  his  eyes  as  he  fixed  them  tenderly 
upon  him.  "  Thanks,  my  son,  for  this  tribute 
of  thy  gratitude ;  I  have  heard  thy  eulogy,  and 
I  accept  it  joyfully.  Let  all  men,"  and  he 
turned  his  eye  upon  Theon,  "  be  above  flatte- 
ry ;  but  let  not  a  sage  be  above  praise.  He 
that  is  so  is  either  arrogant  or  insincere.  For 
myself,  1  own  that  the  commendations  of  my 
friends  fill  ^me  with  triumph,  as  the  assurance 
of  their  affection  does  with  satisfaction.  The 
approbation  of  our  familiars,  who  are  with  us 
in  our  secret  hours,  hear  our  private  converse, 
know  the  habits  of  our  lives,  and  the  bent  of 
our  dispositions,  is,  or  should  be  to  us,  fat 
more  pleasing  and  triumphant  than  the  shouts 
of  a  multitude,  or  the  worship  of  the  world." 

There  was  a  pause  of  some  minutes,  when 
Leontium  took  up  the  word.  "I  have  been 
explaining,  though  very  shortly  and  imper- 
fectly, your  views  concerning  the  studies  most 
proper  to  be  pursued  by  men.  I  believe  the 
Corinthian  has  some  curiosity  on  this  point." 

Theon  assented.  .  i 


114  A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

"Knowledge,"  said  the  Master,  "  is  the  best 
riches  that  man  can  possess.  Without  it,  he  is 
a  brute ;  with  it,  he  is  a  god.  But  hke  happi- 
ness, he  often  pursues  it  without  finding  it ;  or, 
at  best,  obtains  of  it  but  an  imperfect  glimpse. 
It  is  not  that  the  road  to  it  is  either  dark  or  dif- 
ficult, but  that  he  takes  a  wrong  one ;  or  if  he 
enters  on  the  right,  he  does  so  unprepared  for 
the  journey.  Now  he  thinks  knowledge  one 
Avith  erudition,  and  shutting  himself  up  in  his 
closet,  he  cons  all  the  lore  of  antiquity;  he 
fathoms  the  sciences,  heaps  up  in  his  memory 
all  the  sayings  of  the  dead,  and  reckoning  the 
value  of  his  acquisitions  by  the  measure  of  the 
time  and  labor  he  hath  expended  on  them,  he 
is  satisfied  he  hath  reached  his  end,  and  from 
his  retirement,  looking  down  upon  his  more 
ignorant,  because  less  learned,  brethren,  he 
calls  them  children  and  barbarians.  But, 
alas !  learning  is  not  wisdom,  nor  will  books 
give  understanding.  Again,  he  takes  a  more 
inviting  road :  he  rushes  into  the  crowd ;  he 
rolls  down  the  stream  of  pleasure ;  he  courts 
the  breath  of  popularity ;  he  unravels  or 
weaves  the  riddles  of  intrigue  ;  he  humors  the 
passions  of  his  fellows,  and  rises  upon  them  to 
name  and  power.  Then,  laughing  at  the  cre- 
dulity, ignorance,  and  vice,  he  hath  set  his 
throne  upon,  he  says,  that  to  know  the  world  is 


A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  115 

the  only  knowledge,  and  to  see  to  dupe  it,  is  to 
be  wise.  Yet  knowledge  of  the  world  is  not 
knowledge  of  man,  nor  to  triumph  in  the  pas- 
sions of  others,  is  not  to  triumph  over  our  own. 
No,  my  sons,  that  only  is  real,  is  sterling 
knowledge,  which  goes  to  make  us  better  and 
happier  men,  and  which  fits  us  to  assist  the 
virtue  and  happiness  of  others.  All  learning 
is  useful,  all  the  sciences  are  curious,  all  the 
arts  are  beautiful ;  but  more  useful,  more  curi- 
ous, and  more  beautiful,  is  the  perfect  know- 
ledge and  perfect  government  of  ourselves. 
Though  a  man  should  read  the  heavens,  un- 
ravel their  laws,  and  their  revolutions  ;  though 
he  should  dive  into  the  mysteries  of  matter, 
and  expound  the  phonomena  of  earth  and  air; 
though  he  should  be  conversant  with  all  the 
writings,  and  the  sayings,  and  the  actions  of 
the  dead ;  though  he  should  hold  the  pencil  of 
Parrhasius,  the  chisel  of  Polycletes,  or  the  lyre 
of  Pindar ;  though  he  should  do  one  or  all  of 
these  things,  yet  know  not  the  secret  springs 
of  his  own  mind,  the  foundation  of  his  opin- 
ions, the  motives  of  his  actions ;  if  he  hold  not 
the  rein  over  his  passions  ;  if  he  have  not  clear- 
ed the  mist  of  all  prejudices  from  his  under- 
standing ;  if  he  have  not  rubbed  off  all  intol- 
erance from  his  judgments;  if  he  know  not  to 


116  A    FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

weigh  his  own  actions,  and  the  actions  of  oth- 
ers, in  the  balance  of  justice  —  that  man  hath 
not  knowledge ;  nor,  though  he  be  a  man  of 
science,  a  man  of  learning,  or  an  artist,  he  is 
not  a  sage.  He  must  yet  sit  down,  patient,  at 
the  feet  of  philosophy.  With  all  his  learning, 
he  hath  yet  to  learn,  and  perhaps  a  harder 
task,  he  hath  to  unlearn." 

The  Master  here  paused,  but  the  ears  of 
Theon  still  hung  upon  his  lips.  "  Do  not 
"cease,"  he  exclaimed.  "1  could  listen  to  you 
through  eternity." 

"  I  carmot  promise  to  declaim  quite  so  long," 
returned  the  sage,  smiling.  "But  if  you  wish 
it,  we  will  follow  out  the  topic  when  we  have 
joined  our  other  friends." 

They  rose,  and  bent  their  steps  to  the  public 
walk. 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN  ATHEN^.  117 


CHAPTER  X. 


Epicurus  stood  in  the  midst  of  his  expectant 
scholars.  "  My  sons,"  he  said,  "  why  do  you 
enter  the  Garden  1  Is  it  to  seek  happiness,  or 
to  seek  virtue  and  knowledge  ?  —  Attend,  and 
I  will  show  you  that  in  finding  one,  you  shall 
find  the  three.  To  be  happy,  we  must  be  vir- 
tuous; and  when  we  are  virtuous,  we  are 
wise.  Let  us  then  begin:  and  first,  let  us 
for  awhile  hush  our  passions  into  slumber, 
forget  our  prejudices,  and  cast  away  our  van- 
ity and  our  pride.  Thus  patient  and  mod- 
est, let  us  oome  to  the  feet  of  Philosophy; 
let  us  say  to  her,  '  Behold  us,  scholars  and 
children,  gifted  by  nature  with  faculties,  afiec- 
tions,  and  passions.  —  Teach  us  their  use,  and 
their  guidance.  Show  us  how  to  turn  them  to 
account  —  how  best  to  make  them  conduce 
to  our  ease,  and  minister  to  our  enjoyment.' 

"  'Sons  of  earth,'  says  the  Deity,  'you  have 
spoken  wisely ;  you  feel  that  you  are  gifted  by 
nature  with  faculties,  affections,  and  passions  ; 
and  you  perceive  that  on  the  right  exertion 
and  direction  of  these  depends  your  well-being. 
It  does  so.    Your  aflections  both  of  soul  and 


118  'a   few   days    in   ATHENS. 

body  may  be  shortly  reduced  to  two,  pleasure 
and  pain  ;  the  one  troublesome,  and  the  other 
agreeable.  It  is  natural  and  befitting,  there- 
fore, that  you  shun  pain,  and  desire  and. follow 
after  pleasure.  Set  forth  then  on  the  pursuit  ; 
but  ere  you  start,  be  sure  that  it  is  in  the  right 
road,  and  that  you  have  your  eye  on  the  true 
object.  Perfect  pleasure,  which  is  happiness, 
you  will  have  attained  when  you  have  brought 
your  bodies  and  souls  into  a  state  of  satisfied 
tranquillity.  To  arrive  at  this,  much  previous 
exertion  is  requisite ;  yet  exertion,  not  violent, 
only  constant  and  even.  And  first,  the  body, 
with  its  passions  and  appetites,  demands  grati- 
fication and  indulgence.  But  beware !  for 
here  are  the  hidden  rocks  which  may  ship- 
wreck your  bark  on  its  passage,  and  shut  you 
out  forever  from  the  haven  of  repose.  Pro- 
vide yourselves  then  with  a  skilled  pilot,  who 
may  steer  you  through  the  Scylla  and  Charyb- 
dis  of  your  carnal  affections,  and  point  the 
steady  helm  through  the  deep  waters  of  your 
passions.  Behold  her !  It  is  Prudence,  the 
mother  of  the  virtues,  and  the  handmaid  of 
wisdom.  Ask,  and  she  will  tell  you,  that 
gratification  will  give  new  edge  to  the  hunger 
of  your  appetites,  and  that  the  storm  of  the 
passions  shall  kindle  with  indulgence.  Ask, 
and  she  will  tell  you,  that  sensual   pleasure  is 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  119 

pain  covered  with  the  mask  of  happiness.  Be- 
hold, she  strips  it  from  her  face,  and  reveals 
the  features  of  disease,  disquietude,  and  re- 
morse. Ask,  and  she  will  tell  you,  that  hap- 
piness is  not  found  in  tumult,  but  tranquillity ; 
and  that,  not  the  tranquillity  of  indolence  and 
inaction,  but  of  a  healthy  contentment  of  soul 
and  body.  Ask,  and  she  will  tell  you,  that  a 
happy  life  is  like  neither  to  a  roaring  torrent^ 
nor  a  stagnant  pool,  but  to  a  placid  and  crystal 
stream,  that  flows  gently  and  silently  along. 
And  now.  Prudence  shall  bring  to  you  the 
lovely  train  of  the  virtues.  Temperance, 
throwing  a  bridle  on  your  desires,  shall  gradu- 
ally subdue  and  annihilate  those  whose  present 
indulgence  would  only  bring  future  evil ;  and 
others  more  necessary  and  more  innocent,  she 
shall  yet  bring  down  to  such  becoming  moder- 
ation, as  shall  prevent  all  disquiet  to  the  soul, 
and  injury  to  the  body.  Fortitude  shall 
strengthen  you  to  bear  those  diseases  which 
even  temperance  may  not  be  efficient  to  pre- 
vent ;  those  afflictions  which  fate  may  level  at 
you;  those  persecutions  which  the  folly  or 
malice  of  man  may  invent.  It  shall  fit  you 
to  bear  all  things,  to  conquer  fear,  and  to  meet 
death.  Justice  shall  give  you  security  among 
your  fellows,  and  satisfaction  in  your  own 
breasts.    Generosity  shall  endear  you  to  others, 


120  A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

and  sweeten  your  own  nature  to  yourselves. 
Gentleness  shall  take  the  sting  from  the  malice 
of  your  enemies,  and  make  you  extract  double 
sweet  from  the  kindness  of  friends.  Gratitude 
shall  lighten  the  burden  of  obligation,  or  render 
it  even  pleasant  to  bear.  Friendship  shall  put 
the  crown  on  your  security  and  your  joy. 
With  these,  and  yet  more  virtues,  shall  pru- 
dence surround  you.  And,  thus  attended, 
hold  on  your  course  in  confidence,  and  moor 
your  barks  in  the  haven  of  repose.' 

"  Thus  says  Philosophy,  my  sons,  and  says 
she  not  wisely  ?  Tell  us,  ye  who  have  tried 
the  slippery  paths  of  licentiousness,  who  have 
given  the  rein  to  your  passions,  and  sought 
pleasure  in  the  lap  of  voluptuousness ;  tell  us, 
did  ye  find  her  there  J  No,  ye  did  not,  or  ye 
would  not  now  inquire  of  her  from  Epicurus. 
Come,  then,  Philosophy  hath  shown  ye  the 
way.  Throw  off  your  old  habits,  wash  impu- 
rity from  your  hearts ;  take  up  the  bridle  of 
your  passions ;  govern  your  minds,  and  be 
happy.  And  ye,  my  sons,  to  whom  all  things 
are  yet  new;  whose  passions,  yet  in  the  bud, 
have  never  led  you  to  pain  and  regret ;  ye  who 
have  yet  to  begin  your  career,  come  ye,  also  ! 
Philosophy  hafh  shown  ye  the  way.  Keep 
your  hearts  innocent,  hold  the  bridle  of  your 
passions,  govern  your  minds,  and  be  happy. 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  121 

But,  my  sons,  methinks  I  hear  you  say,  '  You 
have  shown  us  the  virtues  rather  as  modifiers 
and  correctors  of  evil,  than  as  the  givers  of  ac- 
tual and  perfect  good.     Happiness,  you  tell  us, 
consists  in  ease  of  body  and  mind ;  yet  temper- 
ance cannot  secure  the  former  from  disease, 
nor  can  all  the  virtues  united  ward  affliction 
from  the  latter.'     True,  my  children,  Philoso- 
phycannot  change  the  laws  of  nature;  but  she 
may  teach  us  to  accommodate  to  them.    She 
cannot  annul  pain  ;  but  she  can  arm  us  to  bear 
it.     And  though  the  evils  of  fate  be  many,  are 
not  the  evils  of  man's  coining  more?     Nature 
afflicts  us  with  disease ;  but  for  once  that  it  is 
the  infliction  of  nature,  ninety-nine  times  it  is 
the  consequence  of  our  own  folly.     Nature  lev- 
els us  with  death ;  but  how  mild  is  the  death 
of  nature,  with  Philosophy  to  spread  the  pil- 
low, and  friendship  to  take  the  last  sigh,  to  the 
protracted  agonies  of  debauchery,  subduing  the 
body  by   inches,  while  Philosophy  is  not  there 
to  give  strength,  nor  friendship  consolation,  but 
while  the  flames  of  fever  are  heated  by  impa- 
tience, and  the  stings  of  pain  envenomed  by 
remorse !     And  tell  me,  my   sons,  when  the 
body  of  the  sage  is  stretched  on  the  couch  of 
pain,  hath  he  not  his  mind  to  minister  delight 
to  him  7     Hath  he  not  conscience  whispering 
that  his  present  evil  is  not  chargeable  to  his 
6 


12J  A   FBW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

own  past  folly,  but  to  the  laws  of  nature, 
which  no  effort  or  foresight  of  his  could  have 
prevented?  Hath  he  not  memory  to  bring  to 
him  past  pleasures,  the  pleasures  of  a  well- 
spent  life,  on  which  he  may  feed  even  while 
pain  racks  his  members,  and  fever  consumes 
his  vitals  ?  Or,  what  if  agony  overpower  his 
frame,  and  cripple  his  faculties,  is  there  not 
death  at  hand  to  reach  him  deliverance? 
Here,  then,  is  death,  that  giant  of  terror,  acting 
as  a  friend.  But  does  he  interrupt  our  enjoy- 
ments as  well  as  our  sufferings  ?  And  is  it  for 
this  we  fear  him?  Ought  we  not  rather  to 
rejoice,  seeing  that  the  day  of  life  has  its  bright 
and  its  clouded  hours,  that  we  are  laid  to  sleep 
while  the  sun  of  joy  yet  shines,  before  the 
storm  of  fate  has  broken  our  tranquillity,  or 
the  evening  of  age  bedimmed  our  prospect? 
Death,  then,  is  never  our  foe.  When  not  a 
friend,  he  cannot  be  worse  than  indifferent. 
Forwhih  we  are,  death  is  not ;  and  while  death 
is,  we  ^are  not.  To  the  wise,  then,  death  is 
nothing.  Examine  theulls  of  life,  are  they  not 
of  our  own  creation,  or  take  they  not  their 
darkest  hues  from  our  passions  or  our  igno- 
tance  ?  What  is  poverty,  if  we  have  temper- 
ance, and  can  be  satisfied  with  a  crust,  and  a 
draught  from  the  spring  ?  —  if  we  have  mod- 
esty, and  can  wear  a  woollen  garment  as  glad- 


A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  123 

ly  as  a  Tyrian  robe  1  What  is  slander,  if  we 
have  no  vanity  that  it  can  wound,  and  no  an- 
ger that  it  can  kindle  1  What  is  neglect,  if  we 
have  no  ambition  that  it  can  disappoint,  and 
no  pride  that  it  can  mortify  1  What  is  perse- 
cution, if  we  have  our  own  bosoms  in  which 
to  retire,  and  a  spot  of  earth  to  sit  down  and 
rest  upon  1  What  is  death,  when  without  su- 
perstition to  clothe  him  with  terrors,  we  can 
cover  our  heads,  and  go  to  sleep  in  his  arms  1 
What  a  list  of  human  calamities  are  here  ex- 
punged—  Poverty,  slander,  neglect,  disappoint- 
ment, persecution,  death !  What  yet  remains  1 
Disease  1  That,  too,  we  have  shown  temper- 
ance can  often  shun,  and  Philosophy  can  al- 
ways alleviate.  But  there  is  yet  a  pain,  which 
the  wisest  and  the  best  of  men  cannot  escape ; 
that  all  of  us,  my  sons,  have  felt,  or  have  to 
feel.  Do  not  your  hearts  whisper  it  1  Do  you 
not  tell  me,  that  in  death  there  is  yet  a 
sting  7  That  ere  he  aim  at  us,  he  may  level 
the  beloved  of  our  soul  1  The  father,  whose 
tender  care  hath  reared  our  infant  minds  — 
the  brother,  whom  the  same  breast  hath  nour- 
ished, and  the  same  roof  sheltered,  with  whom, 
side  by  side,  we  have  grown  like  two  plants 
by  a  river,  sucking  life  from  the  same  fountain 
and  strength  from  the  same  sun  —  the  child 
whose  gay  prattle  delights  our  ears,  or  whose 


124  A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

opening  understanding  fixes  our  hopes ;  the 
friend  of  our  choice,  with  whom  we  have  ex- 
changed hearts,  and  shared  all  our  pains  and 
pleasures,  whose  eye  hath  reflected  the  tear  of 
sympathy,  whose  hand  hath  smoothed  the 
couch  of  sickness.  Ah !  my  sons,  here  is  in- 
deed a  pain,  a  pain  that  cuts  into  the  soul. 
There  are  masters  who  will  tell  you  otherwise, 
who  will  tell  you  that  it  is  unworthy  of  a  man 
to  mourn  even  here.  But  such,  my  sons, 
speak  not  the  truth  of  experience,  or  Philoso- 
phy, but  the  subtleties  of  sophistry  and  pride. 
He  who  feels  not  the  loss,  hath  never  felt  the 
possession.  He  who  knows  not  the  grief,  hath 
never  known  the  joy.  See  the  price  of  a 
friend  in  the  duties  we  render  him,  and  the 
sacrifices  we  make  to  him,  and  which,  in  mak- 
ing, we  count  not  sacrifices,  but  pleasures ! 
We  sorrow  for  his  sorrow;  we  supply  his 
wants,  or  if  we  cannot,  we  share  them.  We 
follow  him  to  exile.  We  close  ourselves  in  his 
prison ;  we  soothe  him  in  sickness ;  we  strength- 
en him  in  death :  nay,  if  it  be  possible,  we 
throw  down  our  life  for  his.  Oh !  what  a 
treasure  is  that  for  which  we  do  so  much ! 
And  is  it  forbidden  us  to  mourn  its  loss?  If  it 
be,  the  power  is  not  with  us  to  obey.  Should 
we,  then,  to  avoid  the  evil,  forego  the  good  ? 
Shall  we  shut  love  from   our  hearts,  that  we 


k  FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  125 

may  not  feel  the  pain  of  his  departure?  No* 
happiness  forbids  it.  Experience  forbids  it. 
Let  him  who  hath  laid  on  the  pyre  the  dearest 
of  his  soul,  who  hath  washed  the  urn  with  the 
bitterest  tears  of  grief — let  him  say  if  his  heart 
hath  ever  formed  the  wish  that  it  had  never 
shrined  within  it  whom  he  now  deplores.  Let 
him  say  if  the  pleasures  of  the  sweet  commun- 
ion of  his  former  days  doth  not  still  live  in 
his  remembrance.  If  he  love  not  to  recall  the 
image  of  the  departed,  the  tones  of  his  voice, 
the  words  of  his  discourse,  the  deeds  of  his 
kindness,  the  amiable  virtues  of  his  life !  If, 
while  he  weeps  the  loss  of  his  friend,  he  smiles 
not-  to  think  that  he  once  possessed  him.  He 
who  knows  not  friendship,  knows  not  the  pur- 
est pleasure  of  earth.  Yet  if  fate  deprive  us  of 
it,  though  we  grieve,  we  do  not  sink ;  Philoso- 
phy IS  still  at  hand,  and  she  upholds  us  with 
fortitude.  And  think,  my  sons,  perhaps  in  the 
very  evil  we  dread,  there  is  a  good ;  perhaps 
the  very  uncertainty  of  the  tenure  gives  it  val- 
ue in  our  eyes ;  perhaps  all  our  pleasures  take 
their,  zest  from  the  known  possibility  of  their 
interruption.  What  were  the  glories  of  the 
sun,  if  we  knew  not  the  gloom  of  darkness  1 
What  the  refreshing  breezes  of  morning  and 
evening,  if  we  felt  not  the  fervors  of  noon  1 
Should  we  value  the  lovely  flower,  if  it  bloom- 


^ 


126  A  raw  davs  in  atuens. 

ed  eternally ;  or  the  luscious  fruit,  if  it  hung 
always  on  the  bough  7  Are  not  the  smiles  of 
the  heavens  more  beautiful  in  contrast  with 
their  frowns,  and  the  delights  of  the  seasons 
more  grateful  from  their  vicissitudes  1  Let  us 
then  be  slow  to  blame  nature,  for  perhaps  in 
her  apparent  errors  there  is  a  hidden  wisdom. 
Let  us  not  quarrel  with  fate,  for  perhaps  in  our 
evils  lie  the  seeds  of  our  good.  Were  our  body 
never  subject  to  sickness,  we  might  be  insensi- 
ble to  the  joy  of  health.  Were  our  life  eternal, 
our  tranquillity  might  sink  into  inaction. 
Were  our  friendship  not  threatened  witli  inter- 
ruption, it  might  want  much  of  its  tenderness. 
This,  then,  my  sons,  is  our  duty,  for  this  is  our 
interest  and  our  happiness :  to  seek  our  pleas- 
ures from  the  hands  of  the  virtues,  and  for  the 
pain  which  may  befall  us,  to  submit  to  it  with 
patience,  or  bear  up  against  it  with  fortitude. 
To  walk,  in  short,  through  life  innocently  and 
tranquilly :  and  to  look  on  death  as  its  ge^itle 
termination,  which  it  becomes  us  to  meet  with 
ready  minds,  neither  regretting  the  past,  nor 
anxious  for  the  future. ' ' 

The  Sage  had  scarcely  ceased,  when  a  scho- 
lar advanced  from  the  crowd,  and  bowing  his 
head  with  reverence,  stooped  and  touched  the 
knees  of  his  Master.  "  Refuse  not  my  hom- 
age," he  said,  "  nor  call  the  expression  of  it 


A  FEW   DAYS  JN   ATttENg,  127 

presumptuous."  Epicurus  raised  him  in  his 
arms,  "  Colotes,  I  am  more  proud  of  the  hom- 
age of  thy  young  mind,  than  I  should  be  of  that 
of  the  assembled  crowd  of  Olympia.  May  thy 
master,  my  son,  never  lose  his  power  over  it, 
as  1  feel  that  he  will  never  abuse  it.JJ,j^  ^^^^p 

-:     :  -.     i  ^-i.j  >>..!  -;.  .  -J    ■.  .  :,.:    Ioo:>  on  )-y( 

-ilj'^.  •>7i.^?^-.>:;jqo  n'l  hoitlf.d^t  ?;f?W  TJ/;  -'/IT       .'•.(.-■Mi 

!».fij  ilo'-ile  i'l'rfr  gn.'Ueud  j>viii9WiiK>  f;yi>  A'  ,"'>ifr 

■i.i;to-?  Tioifn'^sdisYoi   ■^r/ihrcT'^   v;fol  a  hni;  ,-:s:>ii 

'■    boifjni  B^J8kiih^  orlT     jiaNno.'      ': 

J  ''iM   ')o '.'DiOT  rB'ji::;im   .'.-rfj  dti.v  i'  I''! 

Un'r2 '■'rA  -Jivrr  hoi'rh'l     tnjii  i'.hl 

Off]  ;>!';  uo(|i;sn'.'':  ii-v/t  ct  h-jiig 

.     MCKi  -,;f'.IT -^      .fiiiil  m  ir>.'r;!:[cv/ii 

/j;>f  f^'ii  v/Oid)  od?,c.  J uczrMl  '* ! -"j-iu 

:;7  ■!  bill;  t!fi.->vi  .v  ••■r?;^-^  »:  or  ;9'ni':i'ViO';M  '•  —  .-r  ■;! 

-■■■  'hi"     •  !  :i:-  ■^!!itir'0?'-t'-.rf    T    '       "   ■""    l;-:;^;    .  M:i-:(V 


•flj 


iiUS  A   FEW   DATS   IN   ATHENS. 

-it:-- 

Ji;*:.  io^al      CHAPTER    XL 

The  sun  had  far  declined  from  its  meridian, 
yet  no  cool  breeze  tempered  the  fervors  of  the 
heat.  The  air  was  chained  in  oppressive  still- 
ness, when  suddenly  a  bustling  wind  shook  the 
trees,  and  a  low  growling  reverberated  round 
the  horizon.  The  scholars  retired  before  the 
threatening  storm;  but  Theon,  his  ear  still 
filled  with  the  musical  voice  of  the  sage,  and 
his  heart  imbued  with  his  gentle  precepts,  lin- 
gered to  feed  alone  upon  the  thoughts  they  had 
awakened  in  him.  "  How  mad  is  the  folly  of 
man !  "  he  said,  as  he  threw  his  back  against  a 
tree.  —  "  Professing  to  admire  wisdom  and  love 
virtue,  and  yet  ever  persecuting  and  slander- 
ing both.  —  How  vain  is  it  to  look  for  credit 
by  teaching  truth,  or  to  seek  fame  by  the  road 
of  virtue ! " 

"  Thy  regret  is  idle,  my  son,"  said  a  well 
known  voice  in  his  ear. 

"  Oh !  my  guardian  spirit ! "  cried  the 
startled  youth  —  "  Is  it  you  ?  " 

"I  linger,"  said  the  Gargettian,  "to  watch 
the  approach  of  the  storm,  and  I  suppose  you 
do  the  same." 


.A   FPW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  129 

"No,"  returned  the  yputhj  ^'I  hardly  heed- 
ed the  heavens.'',  ]«;;;  —  v  -^^-fjiJl'Si  ;.-;|  jo  L  .  I-i 

"They  are  singular,  however,  at  this  ilio- 
ment."  Theon  looked  where  the  sage  point- 
ed ;  a  dark  mass  of  vapors  was  piled  upon  the 
head  of  Hymettus,  from  which  two  columns, 
shooting  forth  like  the  branches  of  some  giant 
oak,  spread  themselves  over  the  sky.  The  op- 
posing sun,  fast  travelling  to  the  horizon,  look- 
ed  red  throu^  the  heated  atmosphere,  and 
flashed  a  deep  glare  on  their  murky  sides. 
Soon  half  the  landscape  was  blackened  with 
the  sinking  clouds,  that  each  moment  increas- 
ing in  bulk  and  density,  seemed  to  touch  the 
bosom  of  the  earth.  The  western  half  glowed 
with  a  brilliant  light,  like  molten  gold.  The 
distant  outline  was  marked  with  a  pencil  of 
fire,  while  the  gardens  and  villas  that  speck- 
led the  plaid,  seemed  illuminated  in  jubilee. 

"  See,"  said  the  sage,  stretching  his  hand 
towards  the  gilded  scene,  "  see  the  image  of 
that  fame  which  is  not  founded  in  virtue. 
Thus  bright  may  it  shine  for  a  moment,  but 
the  cloud  of  oblivion  or  infamy  corner  fast  to 
cover  its  glory."  .  v:j    in  A 

"Is  it  so  V  said  Theon.  " Do  not  the  vile 
of  the  earth  fill  the  tongues  of  men,  and  are  not 
the  noble  forgotten'?  Does  not  the  titled  mur- 
derer inscribe  his  name  on  the  tablets  of  eter- 

6* 


130  A   FE"Vr   DAYS   IN  ATHENS. 

nity,  with  the  isword  which  is  dipped  in  the 
blood  of  his  fellows  1  — And  does  not  the  man 
who  hath  spent  his  youth,  and  manhood,  and 
age,  in  the  courts  of  wisdom  —  who  has  plant- 
ed peace  at  the  hearth,  and  given  truth  to  the 
rising  age,  does  he  not  go  down  to  the  grave  in 
silence,  his  bones  unhonored,  and  his  name 
forgotten  1 " 

"  Possibly  his  name;  but,  if  he  have  planted 
peace  at  the  hearth,  and  given  truth  to  the  ris- 
ing age,  surely  not  his  better  part  —  his  vir- 
tues. Do  not  confound  noise  with  fame.  The 
man  who  is  remembered,  is  not  always  honor- 
ed; and  reflect,  what  a  man  toils  for,  that 
probably  [will  he  win.  The  titled  murderer, 
who  weaves  his  fate  with  that  of  empires,  will 
with  them  go  down  to  posterity.  The  sage, 
who  does  his  work  in  the  silence  of  retirement, 
unobserved  in  his  own  generation,  will  pass 
into  the  silence  of  the  grave,  unknown  to  the 
future." 

"But  suppose  he  be  known?  How  few 
worshippers  crowd  to  his  shrine,  and  what 
millions  to  that  of  the  other !  " 

"And  those  few,  my  son,  who  are  they? 
The  wise  of  the  earth,  the  enlightened  patriot, 
the  discerning  philosopher.  And  who  are  the 
millions?  The  ignorant,  the  prejudiced,  and 
the  idle.     Nor  yet,  let  us  so  wrong  the  reason 


A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  131 

of  our  species,  as  to  say,  that  they  always  give 
honor  to  the  mischievous  rather  than  the  use- 
ful —  gratitude  to  their  oppressors,  rather  than 
their  benefactors.  In  instances  they  may  be 
blind,  but  in  the  gross  they  are  just.  The 
splendor  of  action,  the  daring  of  enterprise,  or 
the  glitter  of  majesty,  may  seize  their  imagin- 
ation, and  so  drown  their  judgment,  but  never 
is  it  the  tyranny  of  power,  the  wantonness  of 
cruelty,  the  brutality  of  vice,  which  they  adore, 
any  more  than  it  is  the  innocence  and  useful- 
ness of  virtue,  which  they  despise.  The  unit- 
ed experience  of  mankind  has  pronounced  vir- 
tue to  be  the  great  good :  nay,  so  universal  is 
the  conviction,  that  even  those  who  insult  her 
in  their  practice,  bow  to  her  in  their  under- 
standing. Man  is  for  the  most  part  more  fool 
than  knave,  more  weak  than  depraved  in  ac- 
tion, more  ignorant  than  vicious  in  judgment ; 
and  seldom  is  he,  so  weak  and  so  ignorant,  as 
not  to  see  his  own  interest,  and  value  him  who 
promotes  it.  But  say,  that  he  often  slanders 
the  virtuous,  and  persecutes  the  wise ;  he  does 
it  more  in  error  than  from  depravity.  He  is 
credulous,  and  on  the  report  of  malice,  takes 
virtue  for  hypocrisy :  —  he  is  superstitious,  and 
some  of  the  truths  of  wisdom  appear  to  him 
profane.  Say  he  does  homage  to  vice ;  —  you 
will  find  when  he  does  it,  he  believes  her  to  be 


130  A  rsw  DAYS  m  ATHKNS. 

virtue.  Hypocrisy  has  masked  her  deformity, 
or  talent  decked  her  with  beauty.  Is  here, 
then,  subject  for  wrath?  Rather,  surely,  for 
compassion.  Is  here  matter  for  disgust? 
Rather,  surely,  for  exertion.  The  darker  the 
ignorance,  the  more  praise  to  the  sage  who 
dispels  it ;  —  the  deeper  the  prejudice,  more 
fame  to  the  courage  which  braves  it.  But 
may  the  courage  be  vain  ?  May  the  sage  fall 
the  victim  of  the  ignorance  he  combats  ?  —  He 
may ;  he  often  has.  But  ere  he  engage,  knows 
Jie  not  the  risk  ?  —  The  risk  is  to  himself ;  the 
profit  to  mankind.  To  a  benevolent  soul,  the 
odds  is  worth  the  throw ;  and  though  it  be 
against  him  at  the  present,  he  may  win  it  in 
the  future.  The  sage,  whose  vision  is  cleared 
from  the  mists  of  prejudice,  can  stretch  it  over 
the  existing  age,  to  the  kindling  horizon  of  the 
succeeding,  and  see,  perhaps,  unborn  genera- 
tions weeping  the  injustice  of  their  fathers,  and 
worshipping  those  truths  which  they  con- 
demned. Or  is  it  otherwise  7  Lives  he  in  the 
old  age  of  the  world,  and  does  he  see  the 
stream  of  time  flowing  through  a  soil  yet  more 
.rank  with  prejudice  and  evil  ?  Say,  then,  — 
were  the  praise  of  such  a  world  a  fit  object  of 
;his  ambition,  or  shall  he  be  jealous  of  the  fame 
which  ignorance  yields  to  the  unworthy  ?  But 
any  way,  my  son,  it  is  not  the  voice  of  fame 


.A    FEW   DATS   IN   ATHENS.  133 

that  we  should  seek  in  the  practice  of  virtue, 
but  the  peace  of  self-isatisfaction.  The  object 
of  the  sage  is  to  make  himself  independent  of 
all  that  he  cannot  command  within  himself. 
Yet,  when  I  speak  of  independence,  I  mean 
not  indifference ;  while  we  make  ourselves  suf- 
ficient for  ourselves,  we  need  not  forget  the 
crowd  about  us.  We  are  not  wise  in  the  con- 
tempt of  others,  but  in  calm  approbation  of 
ourselves." 

"  Still  dost  thou  drop  thy  head,  my  son  7  " 
said  the  gentle  philosopher,  laying  a  hand  on 
the  shoulder  of  his  young  friend, 
ji  •**  Your  words  sink  deep  into  my  soul,"  re- 
plied Theon;  "yet  they  have  not  chased  tha^ 
mejancholy  they  found  there.  I  have  not  such 
a  world  in  myself  as  to  be  independent  of  that 
about  me,  nor  can  I  forgive  the  offences  of  my 
fellows,  merely  because  they  commit  them 
from  ignorance.  Nay,  is  not  their  very  ignor- 
ance often  a  crime,  when  the  voice  of  truth  is 
whispering  in  their  ear?" 

"  And  if  they  do  not  hear  her  whisper  in 
the  one  ear,  it  is  because  prejudice  is  crying 
aloud  into  the  other." 

"  Prejudice  !  I  hate  prejudice,"  said  Theon. 

"  And  so  do  I,"  said  the  Master. 

"Yes,  but  I  am  provoked  with  it." 

"  I  suspect  that  will  not  remove  the  evil."    ; 


^134  A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

"  Nothing  will  remove  it.  It  is  inherent  in 
men's  nature." 

'     "  Then  as  we  are  men,  it  may  be  inherent 

•in  ours.  Trust  me,  my  son,  it  is  better  to  cor- 
rect ourselves,  than  to  find  fault  with  our 
neighbors." 

"  But  is  it  not  allowed  to  do  both  1  Can  we 
help  seeing  the  errors  of  the  world  in  which 
we  live,  and  seeing,  can  we  help  being  angry 
at  them  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not  the  seeing  them,  but  I  hope, 

:very  possibly,  the  being  angry  with  them. 
He  that  loses  temper  with  the  folly  of  others, 
shows  that  he  has  folly  himself.  In  which 
case  they  have  as  much  right  to  complain  of 
his,  as  he  of  theirs.  And  have  I  not  been 
trying  to  show  you,  that  when  you  are  wise 
you  will  be  independent  of  all  that  you  cannot 
command  within  yourself  7    You  say  you  are 

•  not  so  now.  I  admit  it,  but  when  you  are 
wise  you  will  be  so.  And  till  you  are  wise, 
you  have  surely  no  title  to  quarrel  with  anoth- 
er's ignorance." 

"  I  can  never  be  independent  of  my  friends," 
returned  Theon.  "I  must  ever  feel  the  injus- 
tice done  to  them,  though  I  might  be  regard- 
less of  that  which  affected  merely  myself" 

"  Why  so  1  What  would  enable  you  to 
disregard  that  done  to  yourself  7  " 


A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  135 

"  Conscious  innocence.  Pride,  if  you  will. 
Contempt  of  the  folly  and  ignorance  of  my 
judges."        '  • 

"  Well,  and  are  you  less  conscious  of  the  in- 
nocence of  your  friend  1  If  you  are,  where  is 
your  indignation  ?  And  if  you  are  not,  have 
you  less  pride  for  him  than  for  yourself  7  Do 
you  respect  that  folly  and  ignorance  in  his 
judges  that  you  despise  in  your  own  1 " 

"I  believe  it  will  not  stand  argument,"  said 
Theon.  "  But  you  must  forgive  me  if,  when 
I  contemplate  Epicurus,  I  feel  indignant  at  the 
slander  which  dares  to  breathe  upon  his  pu- 
rity." 

"  And  do  you  think  you  were  yourself  an 
object  of  indignation,  when  you  spoke  of  him 
as  a  monster  of  vice"? "  ! 

"  Yes,  I  feel  I  was."  ^ 

"  But  he  felt  otherwise,"  said  the  Master, 
"and  which,  think  you,  is  likely  to  feel  most 
wisely  1 " 

"Ah!  I  hope  it  is  Epicurus,"  said  the 
youth,  snatching  his  instructor's  hand.  Their 
conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the  burst- 
ing of  the  storm.  The  fire  flashed  round  the 
horizon,  the  thunder  cracked  over  the  zenith, 
and  the  first  big  drops  fell  from  the  burdened 
clouds.  I"  We  are  near  the  Temple,"  said  the 
sage,  "let  us  seek  shelter  under  its   portico. 


126  A.  FEW   DATS   IN  ATHENS. 

We  may  watch  the  storm  there,  without  a  wet 
skin."  They  had  hardly  gained  it,  when  the 
rain  poured  down  intorrents.  Ihssus,  whom 
the  burning  sun  had  of  late  faded  into  a  feeble 
rill,  soon  filled  and  overflowed  his  bed :  wave 
after  wave,  in  sudden  swell,  came  roaring 
down,  as  if  he  now  first  burst  to  life  from  the 
womb  of  his  parent  mountain.  But  the  vio- 
lence of  the  storm  soon  spent  its  strength.  Al- 
ready the  thunder  broke  with  longer  intervals, 
and  a  faint  light,  like  the  opening  of  morning, 
gleamed  over  the  western  heavens.  At  length 
the  sun  cleared  his  barrier  of  clouds.  He  stood 
on  the  verge  of  the  waves,  and  shot  his  level 
rays  over  the  blazing  Salamis  and  the  glisten- 
ing earth.  The  sage  stood  with  his  young 
friend  in  silent  admiration,  when  the  eye  of  the 
latter  was  attracted  by  a  horseman,  who  came 
full  gallop  over  the  plain,  directly  towards 
them.  The  object  of  his  attention  had  nearly 
reached  the  river,  when  he  perceived  the  rider 
to  be  a  female.  The  swift  feet  of  the  steed 
now  touched  the  opposite  brink.  "  Great 
Jove  !  she  will  not  attempt  the  passage  !  '^  ex- 
claimed the  youth,  as  he  sprung  towards  the 
river.  "  Stop  !  stop  !  "  he  cried.  She  checked 
the  rein,  but  top  late.  The  animal,  accustom- 
ed to  the  passage,  and  blinded  by  speed, 
plunged  into  the  flood.     Theon  tore  his  robe 


A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  137 

from  his  shoulders,  and  was  about  to  make  the 
plunge  on  his  side,  when  he  was  grasped  by 
Epicurus. 

"  Be  not  rash.  The  horse  is  strong,  and  the 
rider  skilful,"  The  voice  that  uttered  these 
words  was  calm  and  distinct,  but  its  wonted 
music  was  changed  into  the  deep  tone  of  sup- 
pressed horror.  Even  at  that  moment,  the 
accent  struck  Theon's  ear. 

"  Do  you  know  her  ]  Is  she  your  friend  7  Is 
she  dear  to  you?  If  so — ,"  he  made  another 
effort  to  throw  himself  forward,  but  was  still 
restrained  by  Epicurus.  He  looked  into  the 
philosopher's  face.  There  was  no  motion  in  it, 
save  a  quivering  round  the  mouth,  while  the 
eyes  were  fixed  in  aching  gaze  on  the  strug- 
gling animal.  He  breasted  the  water  midway, 
when  seemingly  frightened  at  the  rapidity  of 
the  current,  he  tried  to  turn.  The  rider  saw 
the  danger,  she  curbed  the  rein,  she  tried  with 
voice  and  effort  to  urge  him  to  the  conflict. 
Theon  looked  again  at  the  sage.  He  saw  he 
had  loosened  his  mantle,  and  was  prepared  to 
try  the  flood.  "I  conjure  you,  by  the  gods !  " 
said  the  youth,  "  what  is  my  life  to  yours  7  " 
He  grasped  the  sage  in  his  turn.  "  Let  me 
save  her!  I  will  save  her  —  I  swear  it!" 
They  both  struggled  a  moment  for  the  leap. 
"  1  swear,"  continued  Theon,  with  furious  en- 


138  A   TEW   FAYS  IN  ATHENS, 

ergy,  "  that  if  you  go,  I  will  follow."  He 
made  another  effort,  and  dashed  from  the  hold 
of  Epicurus  into  the  river.  Naturally  strong, 
he  was  doubly  so  at  this  moment.  He  felt  no^ 
fear,  he  saw  not  danger.  In  a  moment  he 
was  in  the  centre  of  the  current  —  another 
stroke,  and  he  had  seized  the  mane  of  the 
steed.  But  the  terrified  animal  even  then 
gave  way  to  the  stream.  The  rider  still  strug- 
gled for  her  seat.  But  her  strength  fast  failed, 
she  stretched  out  her  hand  with  a  feeble  cry  of 
despair.  Theon  shot  forward  yet  swifter  than 
the  tide ;  he  drove  with  a  shock  against  the 
horse,  and  caught  with  one  arm  the  expiring 
girl.  Then,  half  yielding  to  the  current,  he 
parted  with  the  other  the  roaring  waters,  and 
with  effort  almost  superhuman  grappled  with 
their  fury.  Panting,  choking,  bewildered,  yet 
never  relaxing,  he  reached,  but  he  knew  not 
how,  the  land.  When  he  recovered  recollec- 
tion he  found  himself  lying  on  a  couch,  in  the 
arms  of  Epicurus.  "  Where  am  I,"  he  said, 
"  and  where  is  the  lovely  girl7  " 

"Safe,  safe,  as  her  generous  deliverer.  Oh! 
my  son !  now  indeed  my  son,  when  I  owe  to 
thee  my  Hedeia." 

"Was  it  your  adopted  child,  then  ?"  cried 
the  youth,  with  a  shout  of  delirious  joy,  as  he 
threw  himself  on  the  breast  of  the  sage.     "  But 


A.  FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  139 

tell  me,"  he  said,  rising  and  looking  round  on 
Metrodorus,  who,  with  two  other  scholars, 
stood  beside  the  couch,  "  how  came  I  here?  " 

"1  believe,"  said  Metrodorus,  "the  Master 
swam  to  your  aid  —  at  least,  we  found  him 
lifting  you  and  Hedeia  from  the  water." 

"  I  watched  your  strength,  my  son,  and  re- 
served mine  till  it  should  fail ;  when  I  observ- 
ed it  to  do  so,  I  came  to  your  assistance. 
Now,  compose  yourself  awhile,  and  I  will  go 
and  put  myself  into  a  dry  tunic." 


T  ;'.''j    'Hi  i 


'  '<•>':]''>'■-{     '.iJ'    (•"•:(      :■    •   '     '■■  i  f -'(Oni 

[■■j'/.y*  ,(;j;(it        (         .  ■    ' , 

.  .'li'  '    '     '\':i      [.'11.0   ilrjiJii'li 
■     •I'J^flO'.l     ill!.'/ 

M    '■■'  '  ■  ' 


140  A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

iiaLrriiuT  ri>f>'-»{  lav 

ial.el4  5i.        CHAPTER    XIL 

ia'ui  hanot  '"'■ 

Theon,  rising  recruited  from  the  warm  bath, 
and  his  hmbs  being  well  rubbed  with  oint- 
ments, joined  the  party  at  supper  in  health  and 
spirits.  It  consisted  of  the  Master,  Leontium, 
Metrodorus,  and  two  other  scholars,  whose 
persons  were  new  to  him.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  gentle  manners  of  one,  not  unmix- 
ed with  a  little  awkwardness,  the  grave  repose 
of  his  features,  the  abstract  thought  that  lined 
his  forehead,  and  fixed  his  mild  eye,  that  led 
him  to  guess  it  was  Polyoenus.  The  other, 
whose  gait  had  the  dignity  of  manhood,  and 
the  polish  of  art;  whose  face,  without  being 
handsome,  had  that  beauty  which  refined  sen- 
timent and  a  well  stored  mind  always  throw 
more  or  less  into  the  features ;  whose  whole 
appearance  showed  at  once  the  fine  scholar  and 
the  amiable  man,  fixed  instantly  Theon's  at- 
tention and  curiosity.  All  received  the  youth 
with  congratulations,  and  Metrodorus,  as  he 
held  him  in  his  embrace,  jokingly  upbraided 
him  as  a  greedy  and  barbarous  invader,  who 
was  carrying  ofl",   in  his  single  person,   the 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  141 

whole  love  and  honor  of  the  Garden.  "  But 
yet,"  he  added,  "  have  a  care;  for  I  doubt  you 
have  secured  the  envy  also."  .  yd  i)  ti!') 

"I  believe  it,"  said  Theon.  "At  least  I 
know  I  should  envy  you,  or  any  of  your  frater- 
nity, who  had  risked  his  life,  aye,  or  lost  it,  in 
the  service  of  your  Master,  or  any  your  Master 
loved." 

"  Well  said,  my  dear  youth,"  said  the 
stranger,  taking  his  hand  ;  "  and  when  you 
have  seen  more  of  the  nymph  you  so  gallantly 
rescued,  you  will  perhaps  think  the  man  a  no 
less  object  of  envy,  who  should  risk  his  life 
for  her,  or  any  she  loved." 

They  moved  to  the  table,  when  Leontium 
whispered  Theon,  "Hermachusof  Mytelene, 
the  bosom  friend  of  Epicurus." 

"  I  thank  you,"  replied  Theon,  "  you  have 
well  read  my  curiosity." 

The  party  were  about  to  place  themselves, 
when  a  sound  in  the  passage  turned  all  eyes  to 
the  door.  *'  Yes,  nurse,  you  may  just  peacea- 
bly let  me  take  my  own  way.  Go,  go,  I  am 
quite  well,  quite  warm,  and  quite  active.  I 
tell  you,  you  have  rubbed  my  skin  off — would 
you  rub  away  my  flesh  too  7  "  And  in  came, 
with  the  light  foot  of  a  nymph  of  Dian,  the 
young  Hedeia.  A  white  garment,  carelessly 
adjusted,  fell,  with  inimitable   grace,  over  her 


142  A   FEW   DATS   IN   ATHENS. 

airy  form ;  in  equal  negligence,  her  long  hair, 
still  moist  from  the  recent  waves,  and  dishev- 
elled by  the  anxious  rubbing  of  her  careful  at- 
tendant, hung  down  her  shoulders  to  her  zone. 
Her  face,  though  pale  from  late  alarm  and  fa- 
tigue, beaming  with  life  and  joy.  Her  full 
dark  eyes  sparkling  with  intelligence,  and  her 
lips,  though  their  coral  was  slightly  faded, 
lovely  with  smiles.  In  one  hand  she  held  a 
goblet,  in  the  other  a  chaplet  of  myrtle. 
"  Which  is  my  hero  7  "  she  asked,  in  a  voice 
more  sweet  than  the  evening  zephyr,  as  she 
looked  round  the  board.  "Am  I  right?"  ap- 
proaching Theon.  The  youth,  as  he  gazed  on 
the  lovely  face,  forgot  to  answer.  "  Nay,  is  it 
a  statue?  "  leaning  forward,  and  gazing  in  her 
turn,  as  if  in  curious  inspection. 

"  No,  a  slave,"  said  Theon,  half  smiling, 
half  blushing,  as  he  stooped  his  knee,  while 
she  placed  the  garland  on  his  head. 

"I  come  to  pledge  you,""  she  said,  putting 
the  cup  to  her  lips,  "  and  to  bid  you  pledge 
me,"  presenting  it  with  bewitching  grace  to 
the  youth.  He  took  it  in  speechless  ecstasy 
from  her  taper  fingers,  and  turning  that  side 
to  his  mouth  which  had  received  the  touch  of 
her's,  quaffed  off  at  once  the  draught  of  wine 
and  love. 

"Beware,"  said  a  voice  in  his  ear;  "it  is 


A   TEVr   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  143 

the  cup  of  Circe."  He  turned,  Polyoenus  stood 
behind  him  ;  but  when  he  saw  his  motionless 
features,  he  could  hardly  believe  the  whisper 
had  been  uttered  by  him. 

'•  J.  know,"  continued  the  fair  one,  pointing 
to  the  table,  "  there  is  but  cold  beverage  here 
for  a  drowned  man.  My  wise  father  may 
know  to  give  comfort  to  the  mind,  but  come  to 
ray  good  nurse,  when  you  want  the  comfort  of 
the  body.  She  is  the  most  skilful  compoimder 
of  elixirs,  philters,  and  every  palatable  medi- 
cine that  you  might  haply  find  in  all  Greece, 
all  Asia,  aye,  or  all  the  earth.  And  now  make 
way,"  putting  back  the  surrounding  company, 
and  leading  Theon  by  the  arm  to  the  upper 
end  of  the  table.  "  Behold  the  king  of  the 
feast." 

"  That  is,  if  you  are  the  queen,"  said  the  in- 
toxicated youth.  J 

"Oh!  certainly,"  placingherself  by hisside, 
"  I  never  refuse  consequence,  whenever  I  can 
get  it." 

"  Wherever  you  can  take  it,  you  mean," 
said  the  Master  laughing. 

•'  And  is  not  that  every  where?"  said  Her- 
machus,  bowing  to  the  fair  girl. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it  is.  A  pretty  face,  my 
friends,  may  presume  much;  a  willful  nature 


XAi  A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

may  carry  all  things.     I  have  both  to  perfec- 
tion; have  I  not"?" 

"Praise  to  Venus,  and  the  Graces!"  said 
Leontium;  "our  sister  has  brought  a  heart  as 
gay  from  the  college  of  Pythagoras,  as  she 
took  into  it." 

"  To  be  sure ;  and  did  you  expect  other- 
wise ?  Psha  !  you  philosophers  know  nothing 
of  human  nature.  I  could  have  told  you  be- 
fore this  last  experiment,  that  humor  lies  in 
contrast,  and  that  a  wag  will  find  more  sub- 
ject in  a  synod  of  grave  sages  than  a  crew  of 
laughing  wits.  You  must  know,"  turning  to 
Theon,  "I  have  been  on  a  visit  to  a  wise  man, 
a  very  wise  man,  who  has  followed  from  his 
youth  up  the  whim,  and  all  very  wise  men 
have  whims,  of  restoring  the  neglected  school 
of  Pythagoras  to  its  pristme  greatness.  Ac- 
cordingly, he  has  collected  and  brought  up 
some  dozen  submissive  youths  to  his  full  satis- 
faction ;  for  not  one  of  them  dare  know  his 
right  hand  from  his  left,  but  on  his  master's 
authority,  doubly  backed  by  that  of  the  great 
founder.  They  have,  in  short,  no  purse  of 
their  own,  no  time  of  their  own,  no  tongue  of 
their  own,  no  will  of  their  own,  "and  no 
thought  of  their  own.  You  cannot  conceive  a 
more  perfect  community.     One  more  virtu- 


L   FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS.  145 

ously  insipid,  more  scientifically   absurd,   or 
more  wisely  ignorant."  -^ 

"Fie,  fie,  you  giddy  jade,"  said  the  Master, 
smiling,  while  he  tried  to  frown. 

"Giddy,  not  at  all.  I  am  delivering  grave 
matter  of  fact  story." 

"And  we  are  all  ear,"  said  Hermachus,  "  so 
pray  let  us  have  the  whole  of  it." 

"  The  whole  7  nay,  you  have  it  already. 
An  abode  of  the  blessed ;  a  house  with  twelve 
bodies  in  it,  and  one  brain  to  serve  them  all." 

"Why,"  replied  Hermachus,  "I  believe  you 
have  at  home  some  hundred  bodies  in  the  same 
predicament. "  •-],,,/ 

"  To  be  sure;  and  so  I  told  the  sage  Pytha- 
gorean, when  he  looked  so  complacently  on 
his  twelve  pieces  of  mechanism,  and  assured 
him  that  were  it  not  for  me,  there  would  not 
be  a  single  original  in  the  Garden  save  the 
Master.  I  assure  you,  father,  I  gave  just  as 
matter  of  fact  a  description  of  your  household, 
as  I  now  do  of  the  old  Pythagorean's.  And,  a 
most  singular  coincidence,  I  remember  he 
cried,  '  Fie,  fie,'  just  as  you  did  now.  Once 
more,  it  was  a  most  perfect  household;  witt 
the  men,  all  peace,  method,  virtue,  learning 
and  absurdity:  with  the  women,  all  silence 
order,  ignorance,  modesty,  and  stupidity."  . 

"And  pray,  sister,"  said Metrodonis,  "what 

7 


14^  A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

made  you  leave  a  society  that  afforded  such 
food  to  your  satire?  " 

"  Because,  brother,  the  richest  food  cloys  the 
fastest.  I  passed  three  days  to  my  perfect  sat- 
isfaction ;  a  fourth  would  have  killed  me." 

"  And  your  friends,  too,"  said  the  philos- 
opher, shaking  his  head. 

"  Killed  them  ?  They  never  knew  they  had 
life,  till  I  found  it  out  for  them.  No,  no,  I  left 
sore  hearts  behind  me.  The  Master  indeed, — 
ah!  the  Master! — Poor  man,  shall  I  confess 
it?  Before  I  left  the  house,  he  caught  one  of 
his  pupils  looking  into  a  mirror  with  a  candle, 
heard  that  another  had  stirred  the  fire  with  a 
sword,  and  oh  !  more  dreadful  than  all,  tliat  a 
third  had  swallowed  a  bean.*  If  I  could  have 
staid  three  days  longer,  I  might  have  wound 
my  girdle  round  the  necks  of  the  whole  dozen, 
brought  them  on  my  back,  and  laid  them  at 
the  feet  of  Epicurus." 

"And  what  said  the  Master  all  this  time?" 
said  Leontium. 

"Said  he?  what  said  he?  umph !  I  never 
heard  what  he  said,  for  I  was  reading  what  he 
felt." 

"And  what  felt  he?"  asked  Hermachus, 


♦Alluding  to  the  ■whimsical  superstitions  of  Pythngoras, 
or,  perhaps  it  wet*  mpre  just  to  say,  e^ia  followers. 


A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS.  147 

"Just  what  yo««  have  felt  —  and  you  too," 
looking  at  Polycenus.  "Aye,  and  you  also, 
very  sage  philosopher ; "  and  turning  short 
round  to  Theon,  "  what  you  have  to  feel,  if 
you  have  to  feel,  if  you  have  not  yet  felt  — 
that  I  was  vastly  witty,  vastly  amusing,  and 
vastly  beautiful." 

"  And  do  you  think,"  said  the  Gargettian, 
"when  we  feel  all  this,  we  can't  be  angry  with 


you 


1" 


"  Nay,  what  do  you  think?  But  no,  no,  I 
know  you  all  better  than  you  know  yourselves* 
And  I  think  you  cannot,  or  if  you  can,  'tis  as 
the  poet,  who  curses  the  muse  he  burns  to  pro- 
pitiate. Oh  !  philosophy !  philosophy  !  thou 
usest  hard  maxims  and  showest  a  grave  face, 
yet  thy  maxims  are  but  words,  and  thy  face 
but  a  mask.  A  skilful  histrion,  who,  when 
the  buskin  is  off,  paint,  plaster,  and  garment 
thrown  aside,  stands  no  higher,  no  fairer,  and 
no  more  mighty,  than  the  youngest,  poorest, 
and  simplest  of  thy  gaping  worshippers.  Ah  f 
friends !  laugh  and  frown ;  but  show  me  the 
man,  the  wisest,  the  gravest,  or  the  sourest, 
that  a  bright  pair  of  eyes  can't  make  a  fool  of" 

"  Ah !  you  proud  girl,"  said  Hermachus, 
"  tremble !  remember  the  blue-eyed  Sappho 
died  at  last  for  a  Phaon." 

-'Well,  if  such  be  my  fate,  I  must   submit. 


1^ 


A    FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 


I  do  not  deny,  because  I  have  been  wise  hith- 
erto, that  I  may  not  turn  fool  with  the  philos- 
ophers, before  I  die." 

'  "  What  an  excellent  school  for  the  rearing  of 
youth,"  said  the  Master,  "  the  old  Pythagorean 
must  think  mine." 

"  Judging  from  me  as  a  specimen,  you  mean. 
And  trust  me  now,  father,  1  am  the  best.  Do 
I  not  practise  what  you  preach  ?  What  you 
show  the  way  to,  do  I  not  possess  ?  Look  at 
my  light  foot,  look  in  my  laughing  eye,  read 
my  gay  heart,  and  tell  —  if  pleasure  be  not 
mine.  Confess  then,  that  I  take  a  shorter  cut 
to  the  goal  than  your  wiser  scholars,  aye,  than 
your  wisest  self.  You  study,  you  lecture,  you 
argue,  you  exhort.  And  what  is  it  all  for?  as 
if  you  could  not  be  good  without  so  much 
learning,  and  happy  without  so  much  talking. 
Here  am  I  —  I  think  I  am  very  good,  and  I 
am  quite  sure  I  am  very  happy;  yet  I  never 
wrote  a  treatise  in  my  life,  and  can  hardly  lis- 
ten to  one  without  a  yawn." 

"Theon,"  said  Epicurus,  smiling,  "you  see 
now  the  priestess  of  our  midnight  orgies." 

"  Ah  !  poor  youth,  you  must  have  found  the 
Garden  but  a  dull  place  in  my  absence.  But 
have  patience,  it  will  be  better  in  future." 

"More  dangerous,"  said  Polycenus. 

"  Never  mind  him,"  whimpered  Iledeia,  in 


A.    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS.  149 

the  Corinthian's  ear,  —  "he  is  not  the  grave 
man  that  a  bright  pair  of  eyes  cannot  make  a 
fool  of.  Tliis  is  very  odd,"  she  continued, 
looking  round  the  board.  "  Here  am  I,  the 
stranger,  and  one  too  half  drowned,  charged 
with  the  entertaining  of  this  whole  learned' 
society." 

"Nay,  my  girl,"  said  the  Master,  "thou 
hadst  need  to  be  whole  drowned,  ere  your, 
friends  might  secure  the  happiness  of  being 
listened  to." 

"Indeed,  I  believe  it's  true;  and  consider- 
ing that  the  greatest  pleasure  of  life  is  the  be- 
ing listened  to,  I  wonder  how  any  one  was- 
found  to  pick  me  out  of  the  water.  The  Cor-, 
inthian,  to  be  sure,  did  not  know  what  he 
saved;  but  that  the  Master  should  wet  his; 
tunic  in  my  service,  is  a  very  unaccountable 
circumstance.  Is  there  any  reason  for  it  in 
philosophy?" 

"  I  am  afraid  none." 

"Or  in  mathematics?"  turning  to  PolycB- 
nus.  "Now,  just  see  there  a  proof  of  my  ar- 
gument. Can  any  man  look  more  like  wis- 
dom, or  less  like  happiness?  This  comes  of 
diagrams  and  ethics.  My  young  Corinthian, 
take  warning." 

"  1  wish  we  could  fix  you  to  a  diagram," 
said  Leontium. 


150  A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

'  ^'The  Graces  forfend !  and  why  should  you 
wish  it?  Think  yon  it  would  make  me 
wiser  1  Let  Polyoenus  be  judge,  if  1  am  not 
wiser  than  he.  I  admire  the  dilFerent  pre- 
scriptions that  are  given  by  different  doctors. 
The  wife  of  the  good  Pythagorean  recom- 
mended me  a  distaff." 

"Well,"  said  Hermachus,  "  that  might  do 
equally." 

"Pray,  why  don't  you  take  one  yourself?" 
"  I,  you  see,  am  busy  with  philosophy." 
"And  so  am  I,  with  laughing  at  it.  Ah! 
my  sage  brother,  every  man  thinks  Ihat  perfec- 
tion, that  he  is  himself — that  the  only  knowl- 
edge that  he  possesses  —  and  that  the  only 
pleasure  that  he  pursues.  Trust  me,  there 
are  as  many  ways  of  living  as  there  are  men, 
and  one  is  no  more  fit  to  lead  another,  than  a 
bird  to  lead  a  fish,  or  a  fish  a  quadruped." 

"  You  would  make  a  strange  world,  were 
you  the  queen  of  it,"  said  Hermachus,  laugh- 
ing. 

"Just  as  strange,  and  no  stranger  than  it  is 
at  present.  For  why  7  1  should  take  it  as  I 
found  it,  and  leave  it  as  I  found  it.  'Tis  you 
philosophers,  who  would  rub  and  twist,  and 
plague  and  doctor  it,  and  fret  your  souls  out,  to 
bring  all  its  heterogeneous  parts,  fools,  wits, 


A   FEW    DAYS   INATHENIS.  151 

knaves,  simpletons,  grave,  gay,  light,  heavy, 
long  faced  and  short  faced,  black,  white, 
brown,  straight  and  crooked,  tall,  short,  thin 
and  fat,  to  fit  together,  and  patient  reflect  each 
other,  like  the  acorns  of  an  oak,  or  the  modest 
wives  and  helpless  daughters  of  the  good  citi- 
zens of  Athens ;  'tis  you,  I  say,  who  would 
make  a  strange  world,  were  you  kings  of  it  — 
you  would  shorten  and  lengthen,  clip,  pull, 
and  carve  men's  minds  to  fit  your  systems,  as 
the  tyrant  did  men's  bodies  to  fit  his  bed." 

"I  grant  there's  some  truth,  my  girl,  in  thy 
nonsense,'^  said  the  Master. 

"  And  I  grant  that  there  is  not  a  philosopher 
in  Athens,  who  would  have  granted  as  much, 
save  thyself  You  will  find,  my  young  hero," 
turning  to  Theon,  " that  my  father  philosophi- 
ses more  sense,  that  is,  less  absurdity,  than  any 
man  since  the  seven  sages,  nay !  even  than  the 
seven  sages  philosophized  themselves.  He 
only  lacks  to  be  a  perfectly  wise  man " 

"To  burn,"  said  the  Master,  "his  books  of 
philosophy,  and  to  sing  a  tune  to  thy  lyre." 

"  No,  it  shall  do  to  let  me  sing  a  tune  to  it 
myself"  She  bounded  from  the  couch  and 
the  room,  and  returned  in  a  moment,  with  the 
instrument  in  her  hand.  "  Fear  not,"  she 
said,  nodding  to  the  sage,  as  she  lightly  swept 


;6^  A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS. 

the  chords,  "  I  shall  not  woo  my  own   lover, 
but  your  mistress." 

"  Come,  Goddess  !  come  !  not  in  thy  power, 

With  gait  and  garb  austere. 

And  threatning  brow  severe, 
Like  stern  Olympus  in  the  judgment  hour  ; 
But  come  with  looks  and  heart  assuring, 
Come  with  smiling  eyes  alluring. 
Moving  soft  to  Lydian  measures. 
Girt  with  graces,  loves,  and  pleasures, 
Bound  Avith  Basilea's  zone. 
Come,  Virtue  !  come  !  in  joyous  tone 
We  bid  thee  welcome  to  our  hearth, 
For  well  we  know,  that  thou  alone 
Canst  give  the  purest  bliss  of  earth." 

"  No  thanks,  no  thanks.  I  shall  take  my 
own  reward,"  and  stealing  behind  Epicurus, 
she  threw  her  white  arms  round  his  neck,  and 
laid  her  cheek  on  his  lips.  Then  rising, 
"  Good  dreams  be  with  you ! "  and  waving 
round  her  hand,  and  throwing  a  smile  on 
Theon,  vanished  in  an  instant.  The  youth 
saw  and  heard  no  more,  but  sat  as  in  a  dream, 
until  the  party  divided. 

"  Have  a  care,"  whispered  the  Master,  as  he 
followed  him  into  the  vestibule.  "Cupid  is  a 
knavish  god,  he  can  pierce  the  hearts  of  others, 
and  hold  a  shield  before  his  own." 


▲   FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  153 


.{two  >'  fj  Q  i^h^Jir '«3ni 

••■f^   '^!J■.•»    -^.fi'l'     .p;-iH; 

Night's  refreshing  airs  fanned  the  cheeks  of 
Theon,  and  rustled  the  myrtle  on  his  brow; 
but  the  subtle  fever  of  love  which  swept 
through  his  veins,  and  throbbed  in  his  heart 
and  temples,  was  beyond  their  cooling  influ- 
ence. The  noisy  business  of  life  had  now  given 
place  in  the  streets  to  noisy  merriment.  The 
song  and  the  dance  sounded  from  the  open 
portals ;  and  the  young  votaries  of  Bacchus,  in 
all  the  frenzy  of  the  god,  rushed  from  the 
evening  banquet,  to  the  haunts  of  midnight 
excess,  while  the  trembling  lover  glided  past  to 
the  stolen  interview,  shrinking  even  from  the 
Hght  of  Day's  pale  sister.  Theon  turned  ab- 
ruptly from  the  crowd,  and  sought  instinctive- 
ly a  public  walk,  at  this  hour  always  private, 
where  he  had  often  mused  on  the  mysteries  of 
philosophy,  and  taxed  his  immature  judgment 
to  hold  the  balance  between  the  doctrines  of 
her  contending  schools.  No  thoughts  so  deep 
and  high  now  filled  his  youthful  fancy.  He 
wandered  on,  his  senses  steeped  in  delirium 
not  less   potent  than   that  of  wine,  until  his 

7* 


154  A    FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

Steps  were  suddenly  arrested  by  a  somewhat 
rude  rencounter  with  a  human  figure,  advanc- 
ing with  a  pace  more  deUberate  than  his  own. 
He  started  backwards  and  his  eyes  met  those 
of  Cleanthes.  The  stoic  paused  a  moment, 
then  moved  to  pass  on.  But  Theon,  however 
little  he  might  have  desired  such  a  companion 
at  such  a  moment,  hailed  him  by  name,  and 
placed  himself  at  his  side.  Again  Cleanthes 
gazed  on  him  in  silence ;  when  Theon,  follow- 
ing the  direction  of  his  glance,  raised  a  hand 
to  his  temples,  and  removed,  with  a  conscious 
blush,  the  offending  garland.  He  held  it  for  a 
moment;  then,  placing  it^  in  his  bosom  — 
"You  misjudge  this  innocent  token;  —  a 
pledge  of  acknowledgment  for  a  life  redeemed 
from  the  waves." 

"  Would  that  I  might  receive  a  pledge  of  the 
redemption  of  thy  virtue,  Th«on,  from  the 
flood  of  destruction  !  For  thy  sake  I  have 
opened  the  volumes  of  this  smooth  deceiver. 
And  shall  a  few  fair  words  and  a  fairer  coun- 
tenance shield  such  doctrines  from  approbrium  ?- 
Shall  he  who  robs  virtue  of  her  sublimity,  the 
Gods  of  their  power,  man  of  his  immortality, 
and  creation  of  its  providence,  pass  for  a 
teacher  of  truth,  and  expounder  of  the  laws  of 
nature  ?  Where  is  thy  reason,  Theon  1  where 
thy  moral  sense  ?  to  see,  in  doctrines  such  as 


Jl    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS.  155 

these,  aught  but  impiety  and  crime,  or  to  im- 
agine, that  he,  who  advocates  them,  can  merit 
aught  but  the  scorn  of  the  wise,  and  the  oppro- 
brium of  the  good?" 

"  I  know  not  such  to  be  the  doctrines  of  Ep- 
icurus," said  the  youth,  "  and  you  will  excuse 
my  farther  reply,  until  I  shall  have  exammed 
the  p4>ilosophy  you  so  bitterly,  and  apparently 
so  justly  condemn." 

"  The  philosophy  ?  honor  it  not  with  the 
name." 

"  Nay,"  returned  Theon  with  a  smile, 
"  there  are  so  many  absurdities  honored  with 
that  appellative,  in  Athens,  that  the  compli- 
ment might  pass  unchallenged,  although  ap- 
plied to  one  less  worthy  than,  in  my  eyes,  ap- 
pears the  sage  of  Gargettium.  But,"  prevent- 
ing the  angry  interruption  of  the  stoic,  "  my 
slowness  to  judge  and  to  censure  offends  your 
enthusiasm.  The  experience  of  three  days 
has  taught  me  this  caution.  My  acquaintance, 
as  yet,  is  rather  with  the  philosopher  than  the 
philosophy  ;  my  prejudices  at  first  were  equal- 
ly strong  against  both.  Havmg  discovered 
my  error  with  respect  to  one,  ought  1  not  to 
read,  listen,  and  examine,  before  I  condemn 
the  other?  And,  the  rather,  as  all  that  I  have 
heard  in  the  garden  has  hitherto  convinced  my 
reason,  and  awakened  my  admiration  and 
love." 


156  A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

"  Permit  me  the  question,"  said  Cleanthes, 
stopping  short,  and  fixing  his  piercing  glance 
on  the  countenance  of  his  companion — '•'  Honor 
ye  the  Gods,  and  believe  ye  in  a  creating 
cause,  and  a  superintending  Providence  1 " 

"  Surely  I  do,"  said  Theon. 

"  How,  then,  venerate  ye  the  man  who  pro- 
claims his  doubt  of  both  ?  "  « 

"  So,  in  my  hearing,  has  never  the  son  of 
Neocles." 

"  But  he  has  and  does  in  the  hearing  of  the 
world." 

"I  have  so  heard,  and  ranked  it  among  the 
libels  of  his  enemies." 

"  He  has  so  written,  and  the  fact  is  acknowl- 
edged by  his  friends."  :     ■"  ' 

"I  will  read  his  works,"  said  Theon,  "and 
question  the  writer.  A  mind  more  candid, 
whatever  be  its  errors,  exists  not,  I  am  per- 
suaded, than  that  of  Epicurus ;  I  should  have 
said  also,  a  mind  more  free  of  errors.  But 
he  has  taught  me  to  think  no  mind,  however 
wise,  infallible." 

"Call  ye  such  doctrines,  errors?  I  should 
rather  term  them  crimes." 

"  I  object  not  to  the  word,"  said  Theon.  "I 
will  examine  into  this.  The  Gods  have  ye  in 
their  keeping !  Goo^.  night."  They  entered 
the  city,  and  the  friends  divided. 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  157 

CHAPT^M   Xlf .  '"'■ 

Uneasy  thoughts  bred  unquiet  skimbers ; 
and  Theon  rose  from  a  restless  couch,  before 
the  first  blush  of  Aurora  tinged  the  forehead  of 
the  sky.  He  trod  the  paths  of  the  garden,  and 
waited  with  impatience,  for  the  first  time  not 
unmixed  with  apprehension,  the  appearance  of 
the  Master.  The  assertions  of  Cleanthes  were 
corroborated  by  the  testimony  of  the  public ; 
but  that  testimony  he  had  learned  to  despise. 
They  were  made  after  perusal  of  Epicurus' s 
writings ;  with  these  writings  he  was  still  un- 
acquainted. Had  they  been  misinterpreted  1 
Cleanthes  was  no  Timocrates.  If  prejudiced, 
he  Was  incapable  of  wilful  misrepresentation; 
and  he  was  too  familiar  with  the  science  of 
philosophy,  so  grossly  to  misunderstand  a  rea- 
soner,  as  lucid  as  appeared  to  be  Epicurus. 
These  musings  were  soon  interrupted.  The 
morning  star  still  glowed  in  the  kindling  east, 
when  he  heard  approaching  footsteps,  and 
turning  from  the  shades  upon  a  small  open 
lawn  where  a  crystal  fountain  flowed  from  the 
inverted  urn  of  a  recumbent  naiad,  he  was 
greeted  by  the  Sage. 


P^  A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS. 

"Oh  !  no,"  exclaimed  Theon,  half  audibly, 
as  he  gazed  on  the  serene  countenance  before 
him,  "this  man  is  not  an  atheist." 

"  What  thoughts  are  with  you,  my  son,  this 
morning?  "  said  the  philosopher,  with  kind  so- 
licitude. "I  doubt  your  plunge  in  Ilyssus  dis- 
turbed your  dreams.  Did  the  image  of  a  fair 
nymph,  or  of  a  river  god  flit  round  your 
couch,  and  drive  sleep  from  your  eyelids?" 

"I  was  in  some  danger  from  the  first,"  said 
the  youth,  half  smiling,  half  blushing,  "  until 
a  visitant  of  a  different  character,  and  one,  I 
imagine,  more  wont  to  soothe  than  to  disturb 
the  mind,  brought  to  my  imagination  a  host  of 
doubts  and  fears,  which  your  presence  alone 
has  dispelled." 

"And  who  played  the  part  of  your  incu- 
bus 1 "  demanded  the  Sage. 

"  Even  yourself,  most  benign  and  indulgent 
of  men." 

"  Truly,  I  grieve  to  have  acted  so  ill  by  thee, 
my  son.  It  shall  be  well,  however,  if  having 
inflicted  the  disease,  I  may  be  its  physician." 

"  On  leaving  you  last  night,"  said  Theon, 
"  I  encountered  Cleanthes.  He  came  from  the 
perusal  of  your  writings,  and  brought  charges 
against  them  which  I  was  unprepared  to  an- 
swer." 

"Let  us  hear  them,  my  son;  perhaps,  until 


A    FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS,  tS9 

you  shall  have  perused  them  yourself,  we  may 
assist  your  difficulty." 

"  First,  that  they  deny  the  existence  of  the 
Gods." 

"I  see  but  one  other  assertion,  that  could 
equal  that  in  folly,"  said  Epicurus. 

"  I  knew  it !  "  exclaimed  Theon,  triumphant- 
ly ;  ''I  knew  it  was  impossible.  But  where 
will  not  prejudice  lead  men,  when  even  the 
upright  Cleanthes  is  capable  of  slander?  " 

"  He  is  utterly  incapable  of  it,"  said  the 
Master;  "and  the  inaccuracy,  in  this  case,  I 
rather  suspect  to  rest  with  you  than  with  him. 
To  deny  the  existence  of  the  Gods  would  indeed 
be  presumption  in  a  philosopher ;  a  presump- 
tion equalled  only  by  that  of  him  who  should 
assert  their  existence." 

"  How !  "  exclaimed  the  youth,  with  a  coun- 
tenance in  which  astonishment  seemed  to  sus- 
pend every  other  expression. 

"  As  I  never  saw  the  Gods,  my  son,"  calmly 
continued  the  Sage,  "  I  cannot  assert  their  ex-- 
istence;  and,  that  I  never  saw  them,  is  no 
reason  for  my  denying  it." 

"  But  do  we  believe  nothing  except  that  of 
which  we  have  ocular  demonstration  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  at  least,  for  which  we  have  not 
the  evidence  of  one  or  more  of  our  senses ;  that 
is,  when  we  believe  on  just  grounds,  which,  1 


ISd  A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS.  ■ 

grant,  taking  men  collectively,  is  very  sel- 
dom." 

"  But  where  would  this  spirit  lead  us  ?  To 
impiety  !  —  to  Atheism  !  —  to  all,  against  which 
I  felt  confidence  in  defending  the  character 
and  philosophy  of  Epicurus  ! '"' 

"  We  will  examine  presently,  my  son,  into 
the  meaning  of  the  terms  you  have  employed. 
But  as  respects  your  defence  of  my  philosophy, 
I  am  sorry  that  you  presumed  so  much,  where 
you  knew  so  little.  Let  this  serve  for  another 
caution  against  pronouncing  before  you  exam- 
ine, and  asserting  before  you  enquire.  It  is 
my  usual  custom,"  continued  the  Master, 
"  with  the  youth  who  frequent  my  School,  to 
defer  the  discussion  of  all  important  questions, 
until  they  are  naturally,  in  the  course  of 
events,  suggested  to  their  own  minds.  Their 
curiosity  once  excited,  it  is  my  endeavor,  so 
far  as  in  me  lies,  to  satisfy  it.  When  you  first 
entered  the  Garden,  your  mind  was  unfit  for 
the  examination  of  the  subject  you  have  now- 
started:  it  is  no  longer  so:  and  we  will  there- 
fore enter  upon  the  enquiry,  and  pursue  it  in 
order." 

"Forgive  me  if  I  express  —  if  I  acknowl- 
edge," said  the  youth,  slightly  recoiling  from 
his  instructor,  "  some  reluctance  to  enter  on 


A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS.  1"61 

the  discussion  of  truths,  whose  very  discussion 
would  seem  to  argue  a  doubt,  — and  —  " 
"And  what  then?" 
"  That  very  doubt  were  a  crime." 
"It  is  there  that  I  wished  to  lead  you;  and 
with  the  examination  of  this  point  we  shall 
rest,  until  time  and  circumstances  .lead  you  to 
push  the  investigation  farther.  I  have  in  me 
little  of  the  spirit  of  prosely  tism.  A  mere  ab- 
stract opinion,  supposing  it  not  to  affect  the 
conduct  or  disposition  of  him  who  holds  it, 
would  be  in  my  eyes  of  very  minor  impor- 
tance. And  it  is  only  in  so  far  as  I  believe 
that  all  our  opinions,  however  apparently  re- 
moved from  any  practical  consequences,  do  al- 
ways more  or  less  affect  one  or  the  other  — 
our  conduct  or  our  dispositions  —  that  I  am  at 
the  pains  to  correct  in  my  scholars,  those 
which  appear  to  me  erroneous.  I  understand 
you  to  say,  that  to  enter  upon  the  discussion  of 
certain  opinions,  which  you  consider  as  sacred 
truths,  would  appear  to  argue  a  doubt  of  those 
truths,  and  that  a  doubt  would  here  constitute 
a  crime.  Now  as  I  think  such  a  belief  incon- 
sistent with  candor  and  charity  — two  feelings, 
indispensable  both  for  the  enjoyment  of  happi- 
ness ourselves,  and  for  its  distribution  to  others, 
I   shall   challenge    its    investigation.      If  the 


A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

doubt  of  any  truth  shall  constitute  a  crime, 
then  the  belief  of  the  same  truth  should  con- 
stitute a  virtue." 

"  Perhaps  a  duty  would  rather  express  it." 

"When  you  charge  the  neglect  of  any  duty 
as  a  crime,  or  account  its  fulfilment  a  virtue, 
you  suppose,  the  existence  of  a  power  to  neglect 
or  fulfil ;  and  it  is  the  exercise  of  this  power, 
in  the  one  way  or  the  other,  which  constitutes 
the  merit  or  demerit.     Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

''  Certainly." 

"  Does  the  human  mind  possess  the  power 
to  believe  or  disbelieve,  at  pleasure,  any  truths 
whatsoever?" 

"1  am  not  prepared  to  answer  :  but  I  think 
it  does,  since  it  possesses  always  the  power  of 
investigation." 

"  But,  possibly,  not  the  will  to  exercise  the 
power.  Take  care  lest  I  beat  you  with  your 
own  weapons.  I  thought  this  very  investiga- 
tion appeared  to  you  a  crime." 

"  Your  logic  is  too  subtle,"  said  the  youth, 
"for  my  inexperience." 

"  Say  rather,  my  reasoning  too  close.  Did  1 
bear  you  down  with  sounding  words  and 
weighty  authorities,  and  confound  your  under- 
standing with  hair-drawn  distmctions,  you 
would  be  right  to  retreat  from  the  battery." 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  163 

"  I  have  nothing  to  object  to  the  fairness  of 
your  deductions,"  said  Theon.  "  But  would 
not  the  doctrine  be  dangerous  that  should  es- 
tablish our  inability  to  help  our  belief;  and 
might  we  not  stretch  the  principle,  until  we  as- 
serted our  inability  to  help  our  actions  7  " 

"  We  might  and  with  reason.  But  we  will 
not  now  traverse  the  ethical  pons  asinorum  of 
necessity  —  the  most  simple  and  evident  of 
moral  truths,  and  the  most  darkened,  tor- 
tured, and  belabored  by  moral  teachers.  You 
enquire  if  the  doctrine  we  have  essayed  to  es- 
tablish, be  not  dangerous.  I  reply  —  not,  if  it 
be  true.  Nothing  is  so  dangerous  as  error,  — 
nothing  so  safe  as  truth.  A  dangerous  truth 
would  be  a  contradicion  in  terms,  an  anomaly 
in  things." 

"But  what  is  a  trnth?"  said  Theon. 

"It  is  pertinently  asked.  A  truth  I  consider 
to  be  an  ascertained  fact ;  which  truth  would 
be  changed  into  an  error,  the  moment  the  fact, 
on  which  it  rested,  was  disproved." 

"  I  see,  then,  no  fixed  basis  for  truth." 

"It  surely  has  the  most  fixed  of  all  — the 
nature  of  thmgs.  And  it  is  only  an  imperfect 
insight  into  that  nature,  which  occasions  all 
our  erroneous  conclusions,  whether  in  physics 
or  morals."  a 


164  A    FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

"But  where,  if  we  discard  the  gods,  and 
their  will,  as  engraven  on  our  hearts,  are  our 
guides  in  the  searqji  after  truth  7  " 

"Our  senses,  and  our  faculties  as  developed 
in  and  by  the  exercise  of  our  senses,  are  the 
only  guides  with  which  I  am  acquainted. 
And  I  do  not  see  why,  even  admitting  a  belief 
in  the  gods,  and  in  a  superintending  provi- 
dence, the  senses  should  not  be  viewed  as  the 
guides,  provided  by  them,  for  our  direction  and 
instruction.  But  here  is  the  evil  attendant  on 
an  ungrounded  belief,  whatever  be  its  nature. 
The  moment  we  take  one  thing  for  granted  we 
take  other  things  for  granted :  we  are  started 
in  a  wrong  road,  and  it  is  seldom  we  can  gain 
the  right  one,  until  we  have  trodden  back  our 
steps  to  the  starting  place.  I  know  of  but  one 
thing,  that  a  philosopher  should  take  for  grant- 
ed ;  and  that  only  because  he  is  forced  to  do  it 
by  an  irresistible  impulse  of  his  nature ;  and 
because,  without  doing  so,  neither  truth  nor 
falsehood  could  exist  for  him.  He  must  take 
for  granted  the  evidence  of  his  senses ;  in  oth- 
er words,  he  must  believe  in  the  existence  of 
things,  as  they  exist  to  his  senses.  I  know 
of  no  other  existence,  and  can  therefore  believe 
in  no  other :  although,  reasoning  from  analo- 
gy,   I   may  imagine   other   existences   to   bo. 


A    FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  165 

This,  for  instance,  I  do  as  respects  the  gods. 
I  see  around  me  in  the  world  I  inhabit  an  in- 
finite variety  in  the  arrangement  of  matter  ;  — 
a  muhitude  of  sentient  beings,  possessing  dif- 
ferent kinds,  and  varying  grades  of  power  and 
inteUigence, — from  the  worm  that  crawls  in 
the  dust,  to  the  eagle  that  soars  to  the  sun, 
and  man  who  marks  to  the  sun  its  course.  It 
is  possible,  it  is  moreover  probable,  that,  in  the 
worlds  which  I  see  not,  —  in  the  boundless  in- 
finitude and  eternal  duration  of  matter,  beings 
may  exist,  of  every  countless  variety,  and 
varying  grades  of  intelligence,  inferior  and  su- 
perior to  our  own,  until  we  descend  to  a  mini- 
mum, and  rise  to  a  maximum,  to  which  the 
range  of  our  observation  affords  no  parallel, 
and  of  which  our  senses  are  inadequate  to  the 
conception.  Thus  far,  my  young  friend,  I  be- 
lieve in  the  gods,  or  in  what  you  will  of  exist- 
ences removed  from  the  sphere  of  my  knowl- 
edge. That  you  should  believe,  with  positive- 
ness,  in  one  unseen  existence  or  another,  ap- 
pears to  me  no  crime,  although  it  may  appear 
to  me  unreasonable :  and  so,  my  doubt  of  the 
same  should  appear  to  you  no  moral  offence, 
although  you  might  account  it  erroneous.  I 
fear  to  fatigue  your  attention,  and  will,  there- 


166  A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS. 

fore,  dismiss,  for  the  present,  these  abstruse 
subjects. 

-  But  we  shall  both  be  amply  repaid  for  their 
discussion,  if  this  truth  remain  with  you  — 
that  an  opinion,  right  or  wrong,  can  never  con- 
stitute a  moral  offence,  nor  be  in  itself  a  moral 
obligation.  It  may  be  mistaken ;  it  may  in- 
volve an  absurdity,  or  a  contradiction.  It  is  a 
truth ;  or  it  is  an  error :  it  can  never  be  a 
crime  or  a  virtue." 


-ij 


A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS.  ISf 

■  <^.'.*nitU  h  '•A%i 

CHAPTER    XV. 


Theon  remained  transfixed  to  the  same  spot 
of  earth  on  which  the  Sage  left  him.  A  con- 
fused train  of  thoughts  travelled  through  his 
brain,  which  his  reason  sought  in  vain  to  ar- 
rest, or  to  analyze.  At  one  moment  it  seemed 
as  if  a  ray  of  light  had  dawned  upon  his  mind, 
opening  to  it  a  world  of  discovery  as  interest- 
ing as  it  was  novel.  Then  suddenly  he  start- 
ed as  from  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  whose 
depths  were  concealed  in  darkness.  "Clean- 
thes  then  had  justly  expounded  the  doctrines 
of  the  garden.  —  But  did  these  doctrines  in- 
volve the  delinquency  which  he  had  hitherto 
supposed?  Were  they  inconsistent  with  rea- 
son, and  irreconcilable  with  virtue?  If  so,  I 
shall  be  able  to  detect  their  fallacy,"  said  the 
youth,  pursuing  his  soliloquy  aloud.  "  It 
were  a  poor  compliment  to  the  truths  I  have 
hitherto  worshipped,  did  I  shrink  from  their 
investigation.  And  yet,  to  question  the  power 
of  the  Gods !  To  question  their  very  exist- 
ence !  To  refuse  the  knee  of  homage  to  that 
great  first  cause  of  all  things,  that  speaks,  and 


168  A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS. 

breathes,  and  shines  resplendent  throughout  all 
animated  nature !  To  dispute  I  know  not 
what  —  of  truths,  as  self-evident  as  they  are 
sacred  ;  which  speak  to  our  eyes  and  our  ears ; 
to  those  very  senses  whose  testimony  alone  is 
without  appeal  in  the  garden  !  " 

"  Do  you  object  to  the  testimony,  young 
Corinthian?"  said  a  voice,  which  Th eon  re- 
cognised as  that  of  Metrodorus. 

"You  arrive  opportunely,"  said  Theon; 
"  that  is,  if  you  will  listen  to  the  questions  of 
my  doubting  and  embarrassed  mind." 

"Say  rather,  if  I  can  answer  them." 

"I  attribute  to  you  the  ability,"  said  Theon, 
"since  I  have  heard  you  quoted  as  an  able  ex- 
pounder of  the  philosophy  of  the  garden." 

"  In  the  absence  of  our  Zeno,"  said  the 
scholar  with  a  smile,  "  1  sometimes  play  the 
part  of  his  Cleanthes.  And  though  you  may 
find  me  less  eloquent  than  my  brother  of  the 
porch,  I  will  promise  equal  fidelity  to  the  text 
of  my  original.  But  here  is  one,  who  can  ex- 
pound the  doctrine  in  the  letter  and  the  spirit; 
and,  with  such  an  assistant.  I  should  not  fear 
to  engage  all  the  scholars  and  all  the  masters 
in  Athens." 

"  Nay,  boast  rather  of  thy  cause  than  of  thy 
assistant,"  said  Leontium,  approaching,  and 
playfully  tapping  the  shoulder  of  Metrodorus ; 


A   FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  '  169 

"  nor  yet  belie  thy  own  talents,  my  brother. 
The  Corinthian  will  smile  at  thy  false  mod- 
esty, when  he  shall  have  studied  thy  writings, 
and  listened  to  thy  logical  discourses.  I  imag- 
ine," she  continued,  turning  her  placid  gaze  on 
the  youth,  "  that  you  have  hitherto  listened  to 
more  declamation  than  reasoning.  I  might 
also  say,  to  more  sophistry,  seeing  that  you 
have  walked  and  talked  in  the  Lyceum," 
"  Say  rather,  walked  and  listened." 
"  In  truth  and  I  believe  it,"  she  returned 
with  a  smile,  "and  would  that  your  good 
sense  in  this,  were  more  common;  and  that 
men  would  rest  content  with  straining  their 
ears,  and  forbear  from  submitting  their  under- 
standings, or  torturing  those  of  their  neigh- 
bors." 

"  It  might  seem  strange,"  said  Metrodorus, 
"that  the  pedantry  of  Aristotle  should  find  so 
many  imitators,  and  his  dark  sayings  so  inany 
believers,  in  a  city,  too,  now  graced  and  en- 
lightened by  the  simple  language,  and  simple 
doctrines  of  an  Epicurus.  —  But  the  language 
of  truth  is  too  simple  for  inexperienced  ears. 
We  start  in  search  of  knowledge,  like  the 
demi-gods  of  old  in  search  of  adventure,  pre- 
pared to  encounter  giants,  to  scale  mountains, 
to  pierce  into  Tartarean  gulfs,  and  to  carry  off 
our  prize  from  the  gripe  of  some  dark  enchant- 
8 


m 


▲    FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 


er^' invulnerable  to  all  save  to  charmed  weap- 
ons and  deity-gifted  assailants.  To  find  none 
of  all  these  things,  but,  in  their  stead,  a 
smooth  road  through  a  pleasant  country,  with 
a  familiar  guide  to  direct  our  curiosity,  and 
point  out  the  beauties  of  the  landscape,  disap- 
points us  of  all  exploit  and  all  notoriety  ;  and 
our  vanity  turns  but  too  often  from  the  fair 
and  open  champaign,  into  error's  dark  laby- 
rinths, where  we  mistake  mystery  for  wisdom, 
pedantry  for  knowledge,  and  prejudice  for  vir- 
tue." 

^'  I  admit  the  truth  of  the  metaphor,"  said 
Theon.  "  But  may  we  not  simplify  too  much 
as  well  as  too  little  ?  May  we  not  push  inves- 
tigation beyond  the  limits  assigned  to  human 
reason,  and,  with  a  boldness  approaching  to 
profanity,  tear,  without  removing,  the  veil 
which  enwraps  the  mysteries  of  creation  from 
our  scrutiny  1 " 

"Without  challenging  the  meaning  of  the 
terms  you  have  employed,"  said  Metrodorus, 
"I  would  observe,  that  there  is  little  dan- 
ger of  our  pushing  investigation  too  far.  Un- 
happily the  limits  prescribed  to  us  by  our  few 
and  imperfect  senses  must  ever  cramp  the 
sphere  of  our  observation,  as  compared  to  the 
boundless  range  of  things;  and  that,  even 
when  we  shall  have  strained  and  improved  our 


A   FEW   DAYS    IN    ATHENS.  171 

senses  to  the  uttermost.  We  trace  an  effect  to 
a  cause,  and  that  cause  to  another  cause,  and 
so  on,  till  we  hold  some  few  links  of  a  chain, 
whose  extent,  like  the  charmed  circle,  is  with- 
out beginning  as  without  end." 

"  I  apprehend  the  difficulties,"  observed  Le- 
ontium,  "  which  embraces  the  mind  of  our 
young  friend.  Like  most  aspirants  after 
knowledge,  he  has  a  vague  and  incorrect 
idea  of  what  he  is  pursuing,  and  still  more, 
of  what  may  be  attained.  In  the  schools 
you  have  hitherto  frequented,"  she  contin- 
ued, addressing  the  youth,  "certain  images 
of  virtue,  vice,  truth,  knowledge,  are  pre- 
sented to  the  imagination,  and  these  abstract 
'qualities,  or  we  may  call  them,  figurative 
beings,  are  made  at  once  the  objects  of  specu- 
lation and  adoration.  A  law  is  laid  down, 
and  the  feelings  and  opinions  of  men  are  pred- 
icated upon  it ;  a  theory  is  built,  and  all  ani- 
mate and  inanimate  nature  is  made  to  speak 
in  its  support ;  an  hypothesis  is  advanced,  and 
all  the  mysteries  of  nature  are  treated  as  ex- 
plained. You  have  heard  of,  and  studied  va- 
rious systems  of  philosophy ;  but  real  philos- 
ophy is  opposed  to  all  systems.  Her  whole 
business  is  observation ;  and  the  results  of  that 
observation  constitute  all  her  knowledge.  She 
receives  no  truths,  until  she  has  tested  them  by 


in 


A   FEW   DAYS   Hf  ATHENS. 


experience ;  she  advances  no  opinions,  imsup- 
ported  by  the  testimony  of  facts  ;  she  acknowl- 
edges no  virtue,  but  that  involved  in  beneficial 
actions ;  no  vice,  but  that  involved  in  actions 
hurtful  to  ourselves  or  to  others.  Aliove  all, 
she  advances  no  dogmas,  —  is  slow  to  assert 
what  is,  —  and  calls  nothing  impossible.  The 
science  of  philosophy  is  simply  a  science  of  ob- 
servation, both  as  regards  the  world  without 
us,  and  the  world  within ;  and,  to  advance  in 
it,  are  requisite  only  sound  senses,  well  devel- 
oped and  exercised  faculties,  and  a  mind  free 
of  prejudice.  The  objects  she  has  in  view,  as 
regards  the  external  world,  are,  first,  to  see 
things  as  they  are,  and  secondly,  to  examine 
their  structure,  to  ascertain  their  properties, 
and  to  observe  their  relations  one  to  the  other. 
—  As  respects  the  world  within,  or  the  philos- 
ophy of  mind,  she  has  in  view,  first,  to  exam- 
ine our  sensations,  or  the  impressions  of  exter- 
nal things  on  our  senses ;  which  operation  in- 
volves, and  is  involved  in,  the  examination  of 
those  external  things  themselves :  secondly,  to 
trace  back  to  our  sensations,  the  first  develop- 
ment of  all  our  faculties ;  and  again,  from 
these  sensations,  and  the  exercise  of  our  differ- 
"ent  faculties  as  developed  by  them,  to  trace  the 
gradual  formation  of  our  moral  feelings,  and 
of  all   our  emotions :  thirdly,  to   analyze   all 


A   FEW   DATS   IN  ATHENS.  173 

these  our  sensations,  thoughts,  and  emo- 
tions, —  that  is,  to  examine  the  quaUties  of  our 
own  internal,  sentient  matter,  with  the  same, 
and  yet  more,  closeness  of  scrutiny,  than  we 
have  apphed  to  the  examination  of  the  matter 
that  is  without  us :  finally,  to  investigate  the 
justness  of  our  moral  feelings,  and  to  weigh 
the  merit  and  demerit  of  human  actions; 
which  is,  in  other  words,  to  judge  of  their  ten- 
dency to  produce  good  or  evil^  —  to  excite 
pleasurable  or  painful  feelings  in  ourselves  or 
others.  You  will  observe,  therefore,  that,  both 
as  regards  the  philosophy  of  physics,  and  the 
philosophy  of  mind,  all  is  simply  a  process  of 
investigation.  It  is  a  journey  of  discovery,  m 
which,  in  the  one  case,  we  commission  our 
senses  to  examine  the  qualities  of  that  matter 
which  is  around  us,  and  in  the  other,  endeav- 
or, by  attention  to  the  varieties  of  our  con-» 
sciousness,  to  gain  a  knowledge  of  those  quali- 
ties of  matter,  which  constitute  our  susceptif 
bilitiesof  thought  and  feeling." 

"This  explanation  is  new  to  me,"  observed 
Theon,  "and,  I  will  confess,  startling  to  my 
imagination.     It  is  pure  materialism  !  " 

"  You  may  so  call  it,"  rejoined  Leontium, 
"but,  when  you  have  so  called  it — what 
then  ?  The  question  remains :  is  it  true  1  c^ 
is  it  false?"  ...  . 


174  A   FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS^ 

"I  should  be  disposed  to  say  —  false,  since 
it  confounds  all  my  preconceived  notions  of 
truth  and  error,  of  right  and  wrong." 

"Of  truth  and  error,  of  right  and  wrong,  in 
the  sense  of  correct  or  incorrect  is,  I  presume, 
your  meaning,"  said  Leontium.  "  You  do 
not  involve  moral  rectitude  or  the  contrary,  in 
a  matter  of  opinion?  "jni'iri'tb    hn 

"If  the  opinion  haVB-amotal  or  immoral 
tendency  I  do,"  said  the  youth. 

"A  simple  matter  of  fact  can  have  no  such 
tendency,  or  ought  not,  if  we  are  rational  crea- 
tures." ' 

"And  would  not,  if  we  were  always  reas- 
oning beings,"  said  Metrodorus  ;  "but  as  the 
ignorance  and  superstition  which  surround  our 
infancy  and  youth,  favor  the  development  of 
the  imagination  at  the  expense  of  the  judg- 
ment, we  are  ever  employed  in  the  coining  of 
chimeras,  rather  than  in  the  discovery  of 
truths ;  and  if  ever  the  poor  judgment  make 
an  effort  to  dispel  these  fancies  of  the  brain, 
she  is  repulsed,  like  a  sacrilegious  intruder  into 
religious  mysteries." 

"Until  our  opinions  are  made  to  rest  on 
facts,"  said  Leontium,  "  the  error  of  our 
yoimg  friend  —  the  most  dangerous  of  all  er- 
rors, being  one  of  principle  -and  involving 
many  —  must  ever  pervade  the  world.     And  it 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  175 

was  because  I  suspected  this  leading  miscon- 
ception of  the  very  nature  —  of  the  very  end 
and  aim  of  the  science  he  is  pursuing,  that  I 
attempted  an  explanation  of  what  should  be 
sought,  and  of  what  can  alone  be  attained. 
In  philosophy  —  that  is,  in  knowledge  —  en- 
quiry is  every  thing  :  theory  and  hypothesis 
are  worse  than  nothing.  Truth  is  but  approv- 
ed facts.  Truth,  then,  is  one  with  the  knowl- 
edge of  these  facta.  To  shrink  from  enquiry, 
is  to  shrink  from  knowledge.  And  to  pre- 
judge an  opinion  as  true  or  false,  because  it  in- 
terferes with  some  preconceived  abstraction  we 
cajl  vice  or  virtue,  is  as  if  we  were  to  draw  the 
picture  of  a  man  we  had  never  seen,  and  then, 
upon  seeing  him,  were  to  dispute  his  being  the 
man  in  question,  because  unlike  our  picture." 
..,  "But  if  this  opinion  interfered  with  anoth- 
er, of  whose  truth  we  imagined  ourselves  cer- 
-tain?"  ,1 

,  "Then  clearly,  in  one  oj  the. other,  we  are 
mistaken ;  and  the  only  way  to  settle  the  diffi- 
culty, is  to  examine  and  compare  the  eviden- 
ces of  both." 

"  But  are  there  not  some  truths  self-evi- 
dent]" 

"  There  are  a  few  which  we  may  so  call. 
That  is  to  say,  there  are  some  facts,  which  we 
admit  upon  the  evidence  of  a  simple  sensation ; 


iti 


A   FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 


as,  for  instance,  that  a  whole  is  greater  than 
its  part ;  that  two  are  more  than  one  :  which 
we  receive  immediately  upon  the  testimony  of 
our  sense  of  sight  or  of  touch." 

"But  are  there  no  moral  truths  of  the  same 
nature?" 

"  I  am  not  aware  of  any.  Moral  truth, 
resting  entirely  upon  the  ascertained  conse- 
quences of  actions,  supposes  a  process  of  ob- 
servation and  reasoning." 

"  What  call  you,  then,  a  belief  in  a  presiding 
providence,  and  a  great  first  cause  ?  " 

"A  belief  resting  upon  testimony;  which 
belief  will  be  true  or  false,  according  to  the 
correctness  or  incorrectness  of  that  testimony." 

"Is  it  not  rather  a  self-evident  moral 
truth  ?  " 

"  In  my  answer,  I  shall  have  to  divide  your 
question  into  two.  First,  it  cannot  be  a  moral 
truth,  since  it  is  not  deduced  from  the  conse- 
quences of  human  action.  It  can  be  simply  a 
truth,  that  is,  a  fact.  Secondly,  it  is  not  a 
self-evident  truth,  since  it  is  not  evident  to  all 
minds,  and  frequently  becomes  less  and  less 
evident,  the  more  it  is  examined." 

"  But  is  not  the  existence  of  a  first  or  creat- 
ing cause  demonstrated  to  our  senses,  by  all 
we  see,  and  hear,  and  feel  1" 

"  The  existence  of  all  that  we  see  and  heax 


A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS.  177 

and  feel  is  demonstrated  to  our  senses ;  and  the 
belief  we  yield  to  this  existence  is  immediate 
and  irresistible,  that  is,  intuitive.  —  The  exis- 
tence of  the  creating  cause,  that  you  speak  of, 
is  not  demonstrated  to  our  senses ;  and  there- 
fore the  belief  in  it  cannot  be  immediate  and 
irresistible.  I  prefer  the  expression  '  creating  ' 
to  '  first '  cause,  because  it  seems  to  present  a 
more  intelligible  meaning.  When  you  shall 
have  examined  farther  into  the  phenomena  of 
nature,  you  M^ill  see,  that  there  can  be  as  httle 
di  first  as  a  last  cause." 

"  But  there  must  be  always  a  cause,  produc- 
ing an  effect  ?  " 

"Certainly;  and  so  your  cause,  —  creating 
all  that  we  see  and  hear  and  feel —  must  itself 
have  a  producing  cause,  otherwise  you  are  in 
the  same  difficulty  as  before." 

"I  suppose  it  a  Being  unchangeable  and 
eternal,  itself  unproduced,  and  producing  all 
things." 

"  Unchangeable  it  may  be,  —  eternal  it  must 
be  —  since  every  thing  is  eternal." 

"  Every  thing  eternal  7  " 

"Yes;  that  is,  the  elements  composing  all 
substances  are,  so  far  as  we  know  and  can 
reason,  eternal,  and  in  their  nature  unchangea- 
ble ;  and  it  is  apparently  only  the  different  dis- 
position of   these  eternal  and  unch£^ngeal?le 

8* 


1715  A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS. 

atoms  that  produces  all  the  varieties  in  the 
substances  constituting  the  great  material 
whole,  of  which  we  form  a  part.  Those  par- 
ticles, whose  peculiar  agglomeration  or  ar- 
rangement, we  call  a  vegetable  to-day.  pass 
into,  and  form  part  of,  an  animal  to-morrow ; 
and  that  animal  again,  by  the  falling  asunder 
of  its  constituent  atoms,  and  the  different  ap- 
proximation and  agglomeration  of  the  same,  — 
or,  of  the  same  with  other  atoms,  — i^  trans- 
iformed  into  some  other  substance  presenting  a 
new  assemblage  of  qua.'iMes.  To  this  simple 
exposition  of  the  phenomci  a  of  nature  (which, 
you  will  observe,  is  not  e>:,ilaining  their  won- 
ders, for  that  is  impossib't.  but  only  obs^'vug 
them,)  we  are  led  by  the  exercise  of  our  sea- 
ses.  In  studying  the  e:? '.stences  which  sur- 
round us,  it  is  clearly  our  business  to  rise  our 
eyes,  and  not  our  imagiuftions.  To  see  things 
as  they  are,  is  all  we  should  attempt,  and  is 
all  that  is  possible  to  be  done.  Unfortunate' y, 
"we  can  do  but  little  even  here,  as  cr.r  eyas 
serve  us  to  see  but  a  very  little  way.  BtU, 
were  our  eyes  better  —  were  they  so  good  as  to 
enable  us  to  observe  all  the  arcana  of  matter, 
Ve  could  never  acquire  any  other  knowledge 
of  them,  than  that  they  are  as  they  are ;  — 
aniid,  ifi  knowing  this,  that  is,  in  seeing  every 
link  in  the  chain  of  occurrences,  we  should 


A  TFW^   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  179 

know  all  that  even  an  omniscient  being  could 
know.  One  astronomer  traces  the  course  of 
the  sun  round  the  earth,  another  imagines  that 
of  the  earth  round  the  sun.  Some  future  im- 
provements in  science  may  enable  us  to  ascer- 
tain which  conjecture  is  the  true  one.  We 
shall  then  have  ascertained  a  fact,  which  fact 
may  lead  to  the  discovery  of  other  facts,  and 
so  on.  Until  this  plain  and  simple  view  of  the 
nature  of  all  science  be  generally  received,  all 
the  advalnces  we  may  make  in  it  are  compara- 
tively as  nothing.  Until  we  occupy  ourselves 
in  examining,  observing,  and  ascertaining,  and 
not  in  explaining^  we  are  idly  and  childishly 
employed.  —  With  every  truth  we  may  dis- 
cover we  shall  mix  a  thousand  errors ;  and, 
for  one  matter  of  fact,  we  shall  charge  our 
brain  with  a  thousand  fancies.  To  this  lead- 
ing misconception  of  the  real,  and  only  possi- 
ble object  of  philosophical  enquiry,  I  incline  to 
attribute  all  the  modes  a«d  forms  of  human 
superstition.  The  vague  idea  that  some  mys- 
terious cause  not  merely  precedes  but  produces 
the  effect  we  behold,  occasions  us  to  wander 
from  the  real  object  m  search  of  an  imaginary 
one.  We  see  the  sun  rise  in  the  east :  Instead 
of  confining  our  curiosity  to  the  discovery  of 
the  time  and  manner  of  its  rising,  and  of  its 
course  in  the  heavens,  we  ask  also  —  why  does 


180  A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

it  rise  1  What  makes  it  move  ?  The  more 
ignorant  immediately  conceive  some  Being 
spurring  it  through  the  heavens,  with  fiery 
steeds,  and  on  wheels  of  gold,  while  the  more 
learned  tell  us  of  laws  of  motion,  decreed  by 
an  almighty  fiat,  and  sustained  by  an  almighty 
will.  Imagine  the  truth  of  both  suppositions : 
In  the  one  case,  we  should  see  the  application 
of  what  we  call  physical  power  in  the  driver 
and  the  steeds  followed  by  the  motion  of  the 
sun,  and  in  the  other,  an  almighty  volition  fol- 
lowed by  the  motion  of  the  sun.  But,  in 
either  case,  should  we  understand  whtj  the  sun 
moved?  —  lahy  or  how  its  motion  followed 
what  we  call  the  impulse  of  the  propelling 
power,  or  the  propelling  volition?  All  that 
we  could  then  know,  more  than  we  now  know, 
would  be,  that  the  occurrence  of  the  motion  of 
the  sun  was  preceded  by  another  occurrence ; 
and  if  we  afterwards  frequently  observed  the 
same  sequence  of  occurrences,  they  would  be- 
come associated  in  our  mind  as  necessary  pre- 
cedent and  consequent  —  as  cause  and  efiect : 
and  we  might  give  to  them  the  appellation  of 
law  of  nature,  or  any  other  appellation ;  but 
they  would  still  constitute  merely  a  truth  — 
that  is,  a  fact,  and  envelope  no  other  mystery, 
than  that  involved  in  every  occurrence  and 
every  existence."    l  3v?  ,i;iit</A.'. 


.  A   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  181 

"But,  according  to  this  doctrine,"  said 
Theon,  "there  would  be  no  less  reason  in  at- 
tributing the  beautiful  arrangement  of  the  ma- 
terial world  to  the  motion  of  a  horse,  than  to 
the  volition  of  an  almighty  mind." 
'O'VIf  I  saw  the  motion  of  a  horse  followed  by 
the  effect  you  speak  of,  I  should  believe  in 
some  relation  between  them ;  and  if  1  saw  it 
follow  the  volition  of  an  almighty  mind  —  the 
same."  i 

"  But  the  cause  would  be  inadequate  to  the 
effect." 

"It  could  not  be  so,  if  it  were  the  cause. 
For  what  constitutes  the  adequacy  of  which 
you  speak  7  Clearly  only  the  contact,  or  im- 
mediate proximity  of  the  two  occurrences.  If 
any  sequence  could  in  fact  be  more  wonderful 
than  another,  it  should  rather  seem  to  be  for 
the  consequent  to  impart  grandeur  to  the  prece- 
dent —  the  effect  to  the  cause,  —  than  for  the 
cause  to  impart  grandeur  to  the  effect.  But  in 
reality  all  sequences  are  equally  wonderful. 
That  light  should  follow  the  appearance  of  the 
sun,  is  just  as  wonderful,  and  no  more  so,  as  if 
it  were  to  follow  the  appearance  of  any  other 
body  —  and  did  light  follow  the  appearance  of 
a  black  stone  it  would  excite  astonishment  sim- 
ply because  we  never  saw  light  follow  such 
an  appearance  before.     Accustomed,   as    we 


A  Pew  days  in  athens. 

now  are,  to  see  light  when  the  snn  rises,  our 
-wonder  would  be,  if  we  did  not  see  light  when 
he  rose :  but  were  light  regularly  to  attend  the 
appearance  of  any  other  body,  our  wonder  at 
such  a  sequence  would,  after  a  time,  cease; 
and  we  should  then  say,  as  we  now  say,  there 
is  light,  because  such  a  body  has  risen:  and 
imagine  then,  as  we  imagine  noio,  that  we  un- 
derstand why  light  is. 

"In  like  manner  all  existences  are  equally 
•wonderful.  An  African  lion  is  in  himself 
nothing  more  extraordinary  than  a  Grecian 
horse;  although  the  whole  people  of  Athens 
"will  assemble  to  gaze  oii  the  lion,  and  exclaim, 
how  wonderful !  while  no  man  observes  the 
horse." 

ii>ii<True  —  but  this  is  the  wondering  of  ignor- 
ance." 

"1  reply  — trine  again,  but  so  is  all  wonder- 
ing. If,  indeed,  we  should  consider  it  in  this 
and  in  all  other  cases  as  simply  an  emotion  of 
pleasurable  surprise,  acknowledging  the  pres- 
ence of  a  novel  object,  the  feeling  is  perfectly 
rational ;  but  if  it  imagine  any  thing  more  in- 
trinsically marvellous  in  the  novel  existence 
4han  in  the  familiar  one,  it  is  then  clearly  the 
idle  —  that  is,  the  unreasoned  and  unreflecting 
tnarvelling  of  ignorance.  There  is  but  one 
^eal  wonder  to  the  thinking  mind :  it  is  the  ex- 
istence of  all   things ;  that  is,  the  existence  of 


A    FEW    DAYS   TN   ATHEJ;fs.''  183 

matter.  And  the  only  rational  ground  of  this 
one  great  wonder  is,  that  the  existence  of  matter 
is  the  last  link  in  the  chain  of  cause  and  effect, 
at  which  we  can  arrive.  You  imagine  yet 
another  link  —  the  existence  of  a  power  crea- 
ting that  matter.  —  My  only  objections  to  this 
additional  linlr,  or  superadded  cause,  are,  that 
it  is  imagified,  and  that  it  leaves  the  wonder 
as  before  ;  unless,  mdeed,  we  si  ould  say  that 
it  has  supei  added  other  wonders,  since  it  sup- 
poses a  pWirer,  or  rather,  an  existence  possess- 
ing a  powef/bf  which  we  never  saw  an  ex- 
ample." 

\'*  "  How  so?  Does  not  even  man  possess  a 
species  of  creating  power?  And  do  you  not 
suppose,  in  your  inert  matter,  that  very  prop- 
erty which  others  attribute,  with  tnofe  reason 
it  appears  to  me,  to  some  superior  and  un- 
known existence  1 " 

• '  *'  By  no  means.  No  existence,  that  we  know 
of,  possesses  creating  power,  in  the  sense  you 
suppose.  Neither  the  existence  we  call  a  man, 
nor  any  of  the  existences,  comprised  under  the 
generic  names  of  matter,  physical  world,  na- 
ture, &c.,  possesses  the  power  of  calling  into 
being  its  own  constituent  elements,  nor  the 
constituent  elements  of  any  other  substance. 
It  can  change  one  substance  into  another  sub- 
stance, by  altering  the  position  of  its  particles, 
or  interminghng  them  with  others  :  but  it  can- 


Itm  A    FEW    DAYS    IN    ATHENS. 

not  call  into  being,  any  more  than  it  can  anni- 
hilate, those  particles  themselves.  The  hand 
of  man  causes  to  approach  particles  of  earth 
and  of  water,  and  by  their  approximation,  pro- 
duces clay ;  to  which  clay  it  gives  a  regular 
form,  and,  by  the  application  of  lire,  produces 
the  vessel  we  call  a  vase.  You  may  say  that 
the  hand  of  man  creates  the  vase ;  but  it  does 
not  create  the  earth,  or  the  water,  or  the  fire ; 
neither  has  the  admixture  of  these  substances 
added  to,  or  subtracted  from,  the  sum  of  their 
elementary  atoms.  Observe,  therefore,  there  is 
no  analogy  between  the  power  inherent  in  mat- 
ter of  changing  its  appearance  and  qualities,  by 
a  simple  change  in  the  position  of  its  particles, 
and  that  which  you  attribute  to  some  unseen 
existence,  who,  by  a  simple  volition,  should 
have  called  into  being  matter  itself,  with  all 
its  wonderful  properties.  An  existence  posses- 
sing such  a  power  I  have  never  seen ;  and 
though  this  says  nothing  against  the  possibili- 
ty of  such  an  existence,  it  says  every  thing 
against  my  belief  in  it.  And  farther,  the  pow- 
er which  you  attribute  to  this  existence  —  that 
of  wiUing  every  thing  out  of  nothing,  —  being, 
not  only  what  I  have  never  seen,  but  that  of 
which  I  cannot  with  any  distinctness  con. 
ceive  —  it  must  appear  to  me  the  greatest  of 
all  improbabilities.'.'   ,[  uu  jati.  «.■    ,  ■ 


i   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATltENS.  185 

"Ouryourig  friend,"  observed  Metrodorusj 
"lately  made  use  of  an  expression,  the  error 
involved  in  which,  seems  to  be  at  the  root  of 
his  difficulty.  In  speaking  of  matter,"  he  con- 
tinued, turning  to  Theon,  "  you  employed  the 
epithet  inert.  What  is  your  meaning  ]  And 
what  matter  do  you  here  designate  ?  "  > 

"  All  matter  surely  is,  in  itself,  inert." 

"All  matter  surely  is,  in  itself,  as  it  is,"  said 
Metrodorus  with  a  smile;  "  and  that,  I  should 
say,  is  living  and  active.  Again,  what  is  mat- 
ter?" 

"All  that  is  evident  to  our  senses,"  replied 
Theon,  "  and  which  stands  opposed  to  mind." 

"All  matter  then  is  inert  which  is  devoid  of 
mind.  What,  then,  do  you  understand  by 
mind  7" 

"  1  conceive  some  error  in  my  definition," 
said  Theon,  smiling.  "  Should  I  say  — 
thought — you  would  ask  if  every  existence 
devoid  of  thought  was  inert,  or  if  every  exis- 
tence, possessing  life,  possessed  thought?" 

"I  should  so  have  asked.  Mind  or  thought 
I  consider  a  quality  of  that  matter  constituting 
the  existence  we  call  a  man,  which  quality  we 
find  in  a  varying  degree  in  other  existences ; 
many,  perhaps  all  animals,  possessing  it.  Life 
is  another  quality,  or  combination  of  qualities, 
of  matter,   inherent  in  —  we  know  not  how 


t8f  A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

many  existences.  We  find  it  in  vegetables  ; 
we  might  perceive  it  even  in  stones,  could  we 
watch  their  formation,  growth,  and  decay. 
We  may  call  that  active  principle,  pervading 
the  elements  of  all  things,  which  approaches 
and  separates  the  component  particles  of  the 
ever  changing,  and  yet  ever  during  world — life. 
Until  you  discover  some  substance,  which  un- 
dergoes no  change,  you  cannot  speak  of  inert 
matter :  it  can  only  be  so,  at  least,  relative- 
ly, —  that  is,  as  compared  with  other  substan- 
ces." 

"  The   classing  of  thought  and  life  among 
the  qualities  of  matter  is  new  to  me." 

"  What  is  in  a  substance  cannot  be  separate 
from  it.  And  is  not  all  matter  a  compound  of 
qualities?  Hardness,  extension,  form,  color, 
motion,  rest — take  away- all  these,  and  where 
is  matter?  To  conceive  of  mind  independent 
of  matter,  is  as  if  we  should  conceive  of  color 
independent  of  a  substance  colored  :  What  is 
form,  if  not  a  body  of  a  particular  shape? 
What  is  thought,  if  not  something  which 
thinks  ?  Destroy  the  substance,  and  you  de- 
stroy its  properties  ;  and  so  equally  —  destroy 
the  properties,  and  you  destroy  the  substance. 
To  suppose  the  possibihty  of  retaining  the  one, 
without  the  other,  is  an  evident  absurdity." 

"  The  error  of  conceiving  a  quality  in  th  e 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  187 

abstract  often  offended  me  m  the  Lyceum,"  rev 
turned  the  youth,  "but  I  never  considered  the 
error  as  extending  to  mind  and  life,  any  more 
than  to  vice  and  virtue."  '»f!f  i.b  t^^yiv  'A\\  ■.>  ij, 

"You  stopped  short  with  many  others,"  said 
Leontium.  "  It  is  indeed  surprising  how  many 
acute  minds  will  apply  a  logical  train  of  reas- 
oning in  one  case,  and  invert  the  process  in 
another  exactly  similar." 
!?"/»« To  return,  and,  if  you  will,  to  conclude 
our  discussion,"  said  Metrodorus,  "I  will  ob- 
serve that  no  real  advances  can  be  made  in 
the  philosophy  of  mind,  without  a  deep  scru- 
tiny into  the  operations  of  nature,  or  material 
existences.  Mind  being  only  a  quality  of  mat- 
ter, the  study  we  call  the  philosophy  of  mind, 
is  necessarily  only  a  branch  of  general  physics, 
or  the  study  of  a  particular  part  of  the  philos- 
ophy of  matter." 

"  I  am  indebted  to  your  patience,"  said  the 
youth,  "and  would  fain  intrude  farther  on  it. 
I  will  confine  myself  at  present,  however,  to 
one  observation.  The  general  view  of  things, 
which  you  present  to  my  mind,  the  simplicity 
of  which  I  will  confess  to  be  yet  more  fascina- 
ting than  its  novelty,  is  evidently  unfavorable 
to  rehgion, — and,  if  so,  unfavorable  to  vir- 
tue." 

"  An  opportunity  will,  to-day,  be  afforded 


■■  A   PEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

you,"  said  Leontium,  "  of  examining  this  im- 
portant question  in  detail.  At  the  request  of 
some  of  our  youth,  the  Master  will  himself 
give  his  views  on  the  subject." 

"I  am  all  curiosity,"  said  Theon.  "Other 
teachers  have  commanded  my  respect,  inflam- 
ed my  imagination,  and,  I  believe,  often  con- 
trolled my  reason.  The  son  of  Neocles  in- 
spires me  with  love,  and  wins  me  to  confi- 
dence by  encouraging  me  to  exercise  my  own 
judgment,  in  scanning  his  arguments,  and  ex- 
amining the  groundwork  of  his  own  opinions. 
With  such  a  teacher,  and  in  such  a  school,  I 
feel  suspicion  to  be  wholly  misplaced ;  and  I 
shall  now  start  in  the  road  of  enquiry,  anxious 
only  to  discover  truth,  and  willing  to  part  with 
every  erroneous  opinion,  the  moment  it  shall 
be  proved  to  be  erroneous." 

Note,  by  the  Translator.  How  beautifully  have 
the  modern  discoveries  in  chymistry  and  natural  philos» 
bphy,  and  the  iriDre  accurate  analysis  of  the  human 
mind  —  sciences  unknown  to  the  ancient  world  —  sub- 
stantiated the  leading  principles  of  the  Epicurean  ethics 
and  physics  —  the  only  ancient  school  of  either,  really 
deserving  the  name ! 

'I'o  what  have  all  our  ingenious  inventions  and  con- 
trivances, for  the  analysis  of  material  substances,  led  us, 
out  to  the  atoms  of  Kpicurus  ?  To  what,  our  accurate 
observation  of  the  decomposition  of  substances,  and  the 
arresting  and  weighing  of  their  most  subtle  and  invisible 
elements,  but  to  the  eternail  and  unchangeable  nature  of 
thoae  atoms  ?    We  have,  in  the  course  Of  oiir  scrutiny, 


Jl  JTBW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  189 


superadded  to  the  wonderful  qualities  of  matter  with 
which  he  was  acquainted,  those  which  we  call  attrac- 
tion, repulsion,  electricity,  magnetism,  &c.  How  do 
these  discoveries  multiply  and  magnify  the  living  pow- 
ers inherent  in  the  simple  elements  of  all  existences, 
and  point  our  admiration  to  the  sagacity  of  that  intellect 
whidi,  2,000  years  ago,  started  in  the  true  road  of  en- 
quiry ;  while,  at  this  day,  thousands  of  teachers  and 
millions  of  scholars  are  stumbling  in  the  paths  of  error ! 

If  we  look  to  our  mental  philosophy,  to  what  has 
our  scrutiny  led,  but  to  the  leading  principles  of  Epicu- 
rean ethics  ?  In  the  pleasure,  —  utility,  —  propriety  of 
human  action  —  (whatever  word  we  employ,  the  mean- 
ing is  the  same)  —  in  the  consequences  of  human  ac-  ^ 
-tions,  that  is,  in  their  tendency  to  promote  our  good  or 
our  evil,  we  must  ever  find  the  only  test  of  their  intrin- 
sic merit  or  demerit. 

It  might  seem  strange  that,  while  the  truth  of  the 
leading  principles  of  the  Epicurean  philosophy  have 
been  long  admitted  by  all  sound  reasoners,  the  abuse  of 
the  school  and  of  its  founder  is  continued  to  this  day : 
this  might  and  would  seem  strange  and  incomprehensi- 
ble, did  we  not,  on  every  subject,  find  the  same  cow- 
ardly fear  of  facing,  openly  and  honestly,  the  prejudices 
of  men.  Teachers,  aware  of  the  ignorance  of  those 
they  teach,  develope  their  doctrines  in  language  intelli- 
gible only  to  the  few ;  or,  where  they  hazard  a  more 
distinct  exposition  of  truth,  shelter  themselves  from  ob- 
loquy, by  echoing  the  vulgar  censure  against  those  who 
have  taught  the  same  truth,  with  more  explicitness,  be- 
fore them.  The  mass,  even  of  what  is  called  the  edu- 
cated world,  know  nothing  of  the  principles  they  decry, 
or  of  the  characters  they  abuse.  It  is  easy,  therefore, 
by  joining  in  the  abuse  against  the  one,  to  encourage  a 
belief  that  we  cannot  be  advocating  the  other.  This 
desire  of  standing  fair  with  the  wise,  without  incurring 
the  enmity  of  the  ignorant,  may  suit  with  the  object  of 
those  who  acquire  knowledge  only  for  its  display,  or  for 
the  gratification  of  mere  curiosity.  But  they,  whose  no- 
bler aim,  and  higher  gift  it  is,  to  advance  the  human 
mind  in  the  discovery  of  truth,  must  stand  proof  equally 


A  FEW   DATS   IN   ATHENS. 


to  censure  and  to  praise.  That  such  lips  and  such  pens 
should  employ  equivocation,  or  other  artifice,  to  turn 
aside  the  wrath  of  ignorance,  is  degrading  to  themselves 
and  mortifying  to  their  admirers.  The  late  amiable  and 
enlightened  teacher,  Thomas  Brown,  of  Edinburgh, 
■whose  masterly  exposition  of  old  and  new  truths,  and 
exposure  of  modern  as  well  as  ancient  errors,  has  so 
advanced  the  science  he  professed,  is  yet  chargeable 
with  this  weakness.  Alter  inculcating  the  leading  prin- 
ciples, the  whole  of  his  beautiful  system,  he  conde- 
scends to  soothe  the  prejudices  which  all  his  arguments 
have  tended  to  uproot,  by  passing  a  sweeping  censure 
on  the  school,  whose  doctrines  he  has  borrowed  and 
taught.  We  might  say  —  how  unworthy  of  such  a 
mind !  But  we  will  rather  say  —  how  is  it  to  be  lament- 
ed that  such  a  mind  bears  not  within  itself  the  convic- 
tion, that  all  truths  are  important  to  all  men ;  and  that  to 
employ  deception  with  the  ignorant,  is  to  defeat  our  own 
purpose  ;  which  is,  surely,  not  to  open  the  eyes  of  those 
who  already  see,  but  to  enlighten  the  blind ! 


7'  i:i   'i' 


Iff!;  A\: 


•i    FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  101 

b^ha-y^s  ad  liii  ion  iz-if  ii  ImA  ,ao  i/^jsaj&q  ogcii 

-^  z^''      CHAPTER  xvt  ;^^'' ;  ••!:-"'^ 

*^*  A  MORE  than  usual  crowd  attended  the  in- 
structions of  the  Sage.  The  gay,  and  the  cu- 
rious, the  learned,  and  the  idle,  of  all  ages,  and 
of  either  sex,  from  the  restless  population  of 
the  city ;  many  citizens  of  note,  collected  from 
various  parts  of  Attica ;  and  no  inconsiderable 
portion  of  strangers  from  foreign  states  and 
countries.  ^ '^.  -'^'•- '*"*"■  " *> 

They  were  assembled  on  the  lawn,  sur- 
rounding the  temple  already  frequently  men- 
tioned. The  contracting  waters  of  Ilyssus 
flowed  nearly  in  their  accustomed  bed ;  and 
earth  and  air,  refreshed  by  the  storm  of  the 
preceding  night,  resisted  the  rays  of  the  un- 
curtained sun,  now  climbing  high  in  the  hea- 
vens. A  crowd  of  recollections  rushed  on  the 
young  mind  of  Theon,  as  he  entered  the  beau- 
tiful enclosure,  and  gazed  on  the  stream  which 
formed  one  of  its  boundaries.  His  thoughts 
again  played  truant  to  philosophy,  and  his 
rapid  glance  sought  another  and  a  fairer  form 
than  any  it  found  there,  when  the  approach  of 
Epicurus  divided  the  throng,  and  hushed  the 
loud  murmur  of  tongues  into  silence.     The 


A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 


Sage  passed  on,  and  it  was  not  till  he  ascended 
t  he  marble  steps,  and  turned  to  address  the  as- 
sembly, that  Theon  perceived  he  had  been  fol- 
lowed by  the  beautiful  being  who  ruled  his 
fancy.  The  hues  of  Hebe  now  dyed  her  lips 
and  her  cheeks ;  but  the  laughing  smiles  of  the 
preceding  evening  were  changed  for  the  com- 
posure of  respectful  attention.  Her  eye  caught 
that  of  Theon.  She  gave  a  blush  and  a  smile 
of  recognition.  Then,  seating  herself  at  the 
Ji)ase  of  a  column  to  the  right  of  her  father,  her 
jface  jesvuned  its  composure,  and  her  full  dark 
eyes  fastened  on  the  countenance  of  the  Sage, 
in  a  ga?p  .of  i^ingled  ^admiratiop   and  filial 

"  Fellow  citizens,   and  fallow  jnen!      We 
purpose,  this  day,  to  examine  a   question  of 
vital  importance  to  human  kind  :  no  less  a  one 
than  the  relations  we  bear  to  all  the  existences 
that  surround  us;    the    position   we  hold   in 
^4his    beautiful    material    world ;    the    origin, 
.  ^he   object,    and   the   end  of  our  being ;  the 
^   source  from  which  we  proceed,  and  the   goal 
X  to  which  we  tend.  —  This  question  embraces 
.many.     It  embraces  all  most  interesting  to  our 
,, curiosity,  and  influential  over  our  happiness. 
■  Jts  correct  or  incorrect  solution  must  ever  regu- 
late, as  it  now  regulates,  our  rule  of  conduct, 
,our  conceptions  of  right  and  wrong ;  mvist  start 


JL   F^W   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  193 

US  in  the  road  of  tf yje  or  false  enquiry,  and 
either  open  our  minds  to  such  a  knowledge  of 
the  wonders  working  in  and  around  us,  as  our 
senses  and  faculties  can  attain,  or  close  them 
forever  with  the  bands  of  superstition,  leaving 
us  a  prey  to  fear,  the  slayes  of  our  ungoverned 
imaginations,  wondering  and  trembling  at 
every  occurrence  in  nature,  and  making  our 
own  existence  and  destiny  sources  of  dread  and 
of  n^ystery." 

"  Ere  we  come  to  this  important  enquiry,  it 
behooves  us  to  see  that  we  come  with  wilHng 
minds;  that  we  say  not,  'so  far  will  we  go 
and  no  farther ;  we  will  make  one  step,  but 
not  twp ;  we  will  examine,  but  only  so  long  as 
the  result  of  pur  examination  shall  confirm  our 
preconceived  opinions.'  In  our  search  after 
truth,  we  must  equally  discard  presumption 
and  fear.  We  must  come  with  our  eyes  and 
our  ears,  our  hearts  and  our  understandings, 
open ;  anxious,  not  to  find  ouiselves  right,  but 
to  discover  what  is  right ;  asserting  nothing 
which  we  cannot  prove;  believing  nothing 
which  we  have  not  examined ;  and  examin- 
ing all  things  fearlessly,  dispassionately,  per- 
severingly." 

"  In  our  preceding  discourses,  and,  for  such 
as  have  not  attended  these,  in  our  writings,  we 
have  endeavored  to  explain  the  real  object  of 

9 


m 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN  ATHENS. 


philosophical  enquiry ;  we  have  directed  you 
to  the  investigation  of  nature,  to  all  that  you 
see  of  existences  and  occurrences  around  you ; 
and  we  have  shown  that,  in  these  existences, 
and  occurrences,  all  that  can  be  known,  and 
all  that  there  is  to  be  known,  lies  hid.  We 
have  exhorted  you  to  use  your  eyes,  and  your 
judgments,  never  your  imagination ;  to  abstain 
from  theory,  and  rest  with  facts ;  and  to  under- 
stand that  in  the  accumulation  of  facts,  as  re- 
gards the  nature  and  properties  of  substances, 
the  order  of  occurrences,  and  the  consequences 
of  actions,  lies  the  whole  science  of  philos- 
ophy, physical  and  moral.  We  have  seen,  in 
the  course  of  our  enquiry,  that  in  matter  itself, 
exist  all  causes  and  effects ;  that  the  eternal 
/  particles,  composing  all  substances,  from  the 
i  first  and  last  links  in  the  chain  of  occurrences, 
\  or  of  cause  and  effect,  at  which  we  can  arrive ; 
that  the  qualities,  inherent  in  these  particles, 
produce,  or  are  followed  by  certain  effects  ;  that 
the  changes,  in  position,  of  these  particles,  pro- 
duce or  are  followed  by  certain  other  qualities 
and  effects;  that  the  sun  appears,  and  that 
light  follows  his  appearance ;  that  we  throw  a 
pearl  into  vinegar,  and  that  the  pearl  vanishes 
from  our  eyes,  to  assume  the  form  or  forms  of 
more  subtle,  but  not  less  real  substances ;  that 
the  component  particles  of  a  human  being  fall 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN    ATHENS.  ^        195 

asunder,  and  that,  instead  of  a  man,  we  find  a 
variety  of  other  substances  or  existences,  pre^ 
senting  new  appearances,  and  new  properties 
or  powers ;  that  a  burning  coal  touches  our 
hand,  that  the  sensation  of  pain  follows  the 
contact,  that  the  desire  to  end  this  sensation  is 
the  next  effect  in  succession,  and  that  the  mus- 
cular motion  of  withdrawing  the  hand,  follow- - 
ing  the  desire,  is  another.  That  in  all  this 
succession  of  existences  and  events,  there  is 
nothing  but  what  we  see,  or  what  we  could 
see,  if  we  had  better  eyes;  that  there  is  no 
mystery  in  nature,  but  that  involved  in  the 
very  existence  of  all  things ;  and  that  things 
being  as  they  are,  is  no  more  wonderful,  than 
it  would  be,  if  they  were  different.  That  an 
analogous  course  of  events,  or  chain  of  causes 
and  effects,  takes  place  in  morals  as  in  phys- 
ics :  that  is  to  say,  in  examining  those  quali- 
ties, of  the  matter  composing  our  own  bodies, 
which  we  call  mind,  we  can  only  trace  a  train 
of  occurrences,  in  like  manner  as  we  do  in  the 
external  world  ;  that  our  sensations,  thoughts, 
and  emotions,  are  simply  efiects  following  cau- 
ses, a  series  of  consecutive  phenomena,  mutu- 
ally producing  and  produced." 

"When  we  have  taken  this  view  of  things, 
observe  how  all  abstruse  questions  disappear ; 
how  all  science  is  simplified ;  all   knowledge 


lis  A  FEW   DAYS  IN   ATHENS. 

rendered  easy  and  familiar  to  the  mind !  Once 
started  in  this  only  true  road  of  enquiry,  every 
step  we  make  is  one  in  advance.  To  what- 
ever science  we  apply,  that  is,  to  whatever 
part  of  matter,  or  to  whichever  of  its  qualities, 
we  direct  our  attention,  we  shall,  in  all  proba- 
bility, make  important,  because  true,  discove- 
ries. Is  it  the  philosophy  of  nature  in  general, 
or  any  one  of  those  subdivisions  of  it,  which 
we  call  the  philosophy  of  Mind,  Etliics,  Med- 
icine, Astronomy,  Geometry,  &xj.,  the  moment 
we  occupy  ourselves  in  observing  and  arrang- 
ing in  order  the  facts,  which  are  discovered  in 
the  course  of  observation,  we  acquire  positive 
knowledge,  and  may  safely  undertake  U^A&r 
yelope  it  toothers."  }?>,.-,-  ,f 

"The  ascertaining  the  nature  of  existences, 
the  order  of  occurrences,  and  the  consequences 
of  human  actions  constituting,  therefore,  the 
whole  of  knowledge,  what  is  there  to  prevent 
each  and  all  of  us  from  extending  our  discove- 
ries to  the  full  limits  prescribed  by  the  nature 
of  our  facidties  and  duration  of  our  existence  1 
What  noble  employment  can  we  invent?  what 
pleasure  so  pure,  so  little  liable  to  disappoint- 
ment? What  is  there  to  hold  us  back?  — 
What  is  there  not  to  spur  us  forward  ?  Does 
our  ignorance  start  from  the  very  simplicity  of 
knowledge  ?    Do  we  fear  to  open  our  eyes  lest 


A   PEW  DAYS   IN  ATHENS.  197*- 

we  should  see  the  hght?  Does  the  very  tmtlf 
we  seek  alarm  us  in  its  attainment  ?  —  How  is 
it  that,  placed  in  this  world  as  on  a  theatre  of 
observation,  surrounded  by  wonders  and  en- 
dowed with  faculties  wherewith  to  scan  these 
wonders,  we  know  so  little  of  what  is,  and 
imagine  so  much  of  what  is  not  1  Other  ani- 
mals, to  whom  man  accounts  himself  superior, 
exercise  the  faculties  they  possess,  trust  their 
testimony,  follow  the  impulses  of  their  nature, 
and  enjoy  the  happiness  of  which  they  are  ca-^ 
pable.  Man  alone,  the  most  gifted  of  all 
known  existences,  doubts  the  evidence  of  his 
superior  senses,  perverts  the  nature  and  uses  of 
his  multiplied  faculties,  controls  his  most  inno- 
cent, as  well  as  his  noblest  impulses,  and  turns 
to  poison  all  the  sources  of  his  happiness.  To 
what  are  we  to  trace  this  fatal  error,  this  cruel 
self-martyrdom,  this  perversion  of  things  from' 
their  natural  bent  1  In  the  over-development 
of  one  faculty  and  neglect  of  another,  we  must 
seek  the  cause.  In  the  imagination,  that 
source  of  our  most  beautiful  pleasures,  when 
under  the  control  of  judgment,  we  find  the 
source  of  our  worst  afflictions." 

"  From  an  early  age  I  have  made  the  nature 
and  condition  of  man  my  study.  I  have  found 
him  in  many  countries  of  the  earth,  under  the 
influence  of  all  varieties  of  climate  and  circum- 


A  FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 


Stance ;  I  have  found  him  the  savage  lord  of 
the  forest,  clothed  in  the  rough  skins  of  animals 
less  rude  than  himself,  sheltered  in  the  crevices 
of  the  mountains  and  caves  of  the  earth  from 
the  blasts  of  winter  and  heats  of  the  summer 
sun ;  1  have  found  him  the  slave  of  masters  de- 
based as  himself,  crouching  to  the  foot  that 
spurns  him,  and  showing  no  signs  of  miscalled 
civilization  but  its  sloth  and  its  sensualities ;  I 
have  found  him  the  lord  over  millions,  clothed 
in  purple  and  treading  courts  of  marble ;  the 
cruel  destroyer  of  his  species,  marching 
through  blood  and  rapine,  to  thrones  of  ex- 
tended dominion;  the  iron-hearted  tyrant, 
feasting  on  the  agonies  of  his  victims,  and 
wringing  his  treasure  from  the  hard  earned 
mite  of  industry ;  I  have  found  him  the  harm- 
less but  ignorant  tiller  of  the  soil,  eating 
the  simple  fruits  of  his  labor,  sinking  to  rest 
only  to  rise  again  to  toil,  toiling  to  live  and 
living  only  to  die  ;  I  have  found  him  the  pol- 
ished courtier,  the  accomplished  scholar,  the 
gifted  artist,  the  creating  genius ;  the  fool  and 
the  knave ;  rich  and  a  beggar ;  spurning  and 
spurned. 

"  Under  all  these  forms  and  varieties  of  the 
external  and  internal  man,  still,  with  hardly 
an  exception,  I  have  found  him  unhappy. 
With  more  capacity  for  enjoyment  than  any 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.      "  199 

Other  creature,  I  have  seen  him  surpassing  the 
rest  of  existences  only  in  suffering  and  crime. 
Why  is  this  and  from  whence  ?  What  master 
error,  for  some  there  must  be,  leads  to  results 
so  fatal  —  so  opposed  to  the  apparent  nature 
and  promise  of  things  1  Long  have  I  sought 
this  error  —  this  main-spring  of  human  folly 
and  human  crime.  I  have  traced,  through  all 
their  lengthened  train  of  consequents  and  cau- 
ses, human  practice  and  human  theory;  I 
have  threaded  the  labyrinth  to  its  dark  begin- 
ing ;  1  have  found  the  first  link  in  the  chain  of 
evil;  I  have  found  it  —  in  all  countries  — 
among  all  tribes  and  tongues  and  nations ;  X  "' 
have  found  it,  —  Fellow-men,  I  have  found  i^ 
in  —  Religion !  "  iT  ^ 

A  low  murmur  here  rose  from  one  part  of 
the  assembly.  A  deep  and  breathless  silence 
succeeded.  The  Sage  turned  his  gaze  slowly 
around,  and  with  a  countenance,  pure  and 
serene  as  the  skies  which  shone  above  him, 
proceeded: —  , 

"We  have  named  the  leading  error  of  th©^ 
human  mind,  —  the  bane  of  human  happi- 
ness —  the  perverter  of  human  virtue !  It  is 
ReUgion  —  that  dark  coinage  of  trembling  ig- 
norance! It  is  Religion  —  that  poisoner  of 
human  felicity  !  It  is  Religion  —  that  blind 
guide  of  human  reason !     It  isRelijgion-^that 


SOO  A   FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

dethroner  of  human  virtue  !  which  lies  at  the 
root  of  all  the  evil  and  all  the  misery  that  per- 
vade the  world ! 

"  Not  hastily  formed,  still  less  hastily  ex- 
pressed, has  been  the  opinion  you  hear  this 
day.  A  long  train  of  reflection  led  to  the  dis- 
carding of  religion  as  an  error,  a  life  of  obser- 
vation to  the  denouncing  it  as  an  evil.  In 
considering  it  as  devoid  of  truth,  I  am  but  one 
of  many.  Few  have  looked  deeply  and  stead- 
ily into  the  nature  of  things,  and  not  called  in 
question  belief  in  existences  unseen  and  causes 
Unknown.  But  while  smiling  at  the  credulity 
of  their  fellow-beings,  philosophers  have 
thought  reason  good  only  for  themselves. 
They  have  argued  that  religion,  however 
childish  a  chimera  in  itself,  was  useful  in  its 
tendencies:  that,  if  it  rested  upon  nothing,  it 
supported  all  things ;  that  it  was  the  stay  of 
virtue,  and  the  Source  of  happiness.  However 
opposed  to  every  rule  in  philosophy,  physical 
and  moral ;  however  apparently  in  contradic- 
tion to  reason  and  common  sense,  that  a  thing 
untrue  could  be  useful ;  that  a  belief  in  facts 
disproved  or  unproved  could  afford  a  sustain- 
ing prop  to  a  just  rule  of  practice ;  the  asser- 
tion came  supported  by  so  universal  a  testi- 
mony of  mankind,  and  by  individual  names 
of  such  authority  in  practical  wisdom  and  vir- 


A   FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  201> 

tue,  that  I  hesitated  to  call  it  mistaken.  And 
as  human  happiness  appeared  to  me  the  greats 
desideratum,  and  its  promotion  the  only  object 
consistent  with  the  views  of  a  teacher  of  men, 
I  forbore  from  all  expression  of  opinion,  until  I 
had  fully  substantiated,  to  my  own  conviction, 
both  its  truth  and  its  tendency.  The  truth  of 
my  opinion  is  substantiated,  as  we  have  seen,, 
by  an  examination  into  the  nature  of  things ; 
that  is,  into  the  properties  of  matter,  which 
are  alone  sufficient  to  produce  all  the  chances 
and  changes  that  we  behold.  Its  tendency  is 
discovered  by  an  examination  into  the  moral 
condition  of  man. 

"  The  belief  in  supernatural  existences,  and 
expectation  of  a  future  life,  are  said  to  be 
sources  of  happiness,  and  stimuli  to  virtue. 
How,  and  in  what  way  %  Is  it  proved  by  ex- 
perience ]  Look  abroad  over  the  earth  :  every 
where  the  song  of  praise,  the  prayer  of  suppli- 
cation, the  smoke  of  incense,  the  blow  of  ssLCr 
rifice,  arise  from  forest,  and  lawn,  from  cot-' 
tage,  palace,  and  temple,  to  the  gods  of  human 
idolatry.  Religion  is  spread  over  the  earth. 
If  she  be  the  parent  of  virtue  and  happiness, 
they  too  should  cover  the  earth.  Do  they  so  1 
Read  the  annals  of  human  tradition !  Go 
forth  and  observe  the  actions  of  men  !  Who 
shall  speak  of  virtue  —  who  of  happiness,  that 

9# 


202  A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

hath  eyes  to  see  and  ears  to  hear  and  hearts  to 
feel  1  No  !  experience  is  against  the  assertion. 
The  world  is  full  of  religion,  and  full  of  misery 
and  crime. 

"  Can  the  assertion  be  sustained  by  argu- 
ment, by  any  train  of  reasoning  whatsoever  1 
Imagine  a  Deity  under  any  fashion  of  exist- 
ence ;  how  are  our  dreams  concerning  him  in 
an  imaginary  heaven  to  affect  our  happiness  or 
our  conduct  on  a  tangible  earth  ?  Affect  it  in- 
deed they  may  for  evil,  but  how  for  good  1 
The  idea  of  an  unseen  Being,  ever  at  work 
around  and  about  us,  may  afflict  the  human 
intellect  with  idle  terrors,  but  can  never  guide 
the  human  practice  to  what  is  rational  and 
consistent  with  our  nature.  Grant  that,  by 
any  possibility,  we  could  ascertain  the  exist- 
ence of  one  god,  or  of  a  million  of  gods  :  we 
see  them  not,  we  hear  them  not,  we  feel  them 
not.  Unless  they  were  submitted  to  our  obser- 
vation, were  fashioned  like  unto  us,  had  simi- 
lar desires,  similar  faculties,  a  similar  organi- 
zation, how  could  their  mode  of  existence 
afford  a  guide  for  ours?  As  well  should  the 
butterfly  take  pattern  from  the  lion,  or  the  lion 
from  the  eagle,  as  man  from  a  god.  To  say 
nothing  of  the  inconsistency  of  the  attributes, 
with  which  all  gods  are  decked,  it  is  enough 
that  none  of  them  are  ours.     We  are  men ; 


X    FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  203 

they  are  gods.  They  inhabit  other  worlds ; 
we  inhabit  the  earth.  Let  them  enjoy  their 
fehcity ;  and  let  us,  my  friends,  seek  ours. 

"  But  it  is  not  that  religion  is  merely  useless. 
it  is  mischievous.  It  is  mischievous  by  its  idle 
terrors ;  it  is  mischievous  by  its  false  morality ; 
it  is  mischievous  by  its  hypocrisy ;  by  its  fa- 
naticism ;  by  its  dogmatism ;  by  its  threats ; 
by  its  hopes;  by  its  promises.  Consider  it 
under  its  mildest  and  most  amiable  form,  it  is 
still  mischievous  as  inspiring  false  motives  of 
action,  as  holding  the  human  mind  in  bond- 
age, and  diverting  the  attention  from,  things 
useful,  to  things  useless.  ''^  The  essence  of  reli- 
gion is  fear,  as  its  source  is  ignorance.  In  a 
certain  stage  of  human  knowledge,  the  human 
mind  must  of  necessity,  in  its  ignorance  of  the 
properties  of  matter,  and  its  dark  insight  into 
the  chain  of  phenomena  arising  out  of  those 
properties  —  must  of  necessity  reason  falsely 
on  every  occurrence  and  existence  in  nature ; 
it  must  of  necessity,  in  the  absence  of  fact, 
give  the  rein  to  fancy,  see  a  miracle  in  every 
uncommon  event,  and  imagine  unseen  agents 
as  producing  all  that  it  beholds.  In  propor- 
tion as  the  range  of  our  observation  is  enlarg- 
ed, and  as  we  learn  to  connect  and  arrange 
the  phenomena  of  nature,  we  curtail  our  list  of 
miracles,    the    number    of   our  supernatural 


204  A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

agents.  An  eclipse  is  alarming  to  the  vulgar, 
as  denoting  the  wrath  of  offended  deities ;  to 
the  man  of  science  it  is  a  simple  occurrence,  as 
easily  traced  to  its  cause,  as  any  the  most  fa- 
miliar to  our  observation.  The  knowledge  of 
one  generation  is  the  ignorance  of  the  next. 
Our  superstitions  decrease  as  our  attainments 
multiply ;  and  the  fervor  of  our  religion  de- 
clines as  we  draw  nearer  to  the  conclusion 
which  destroys  it  entirely.  The  conclusion, 
based  upon  accumulated  facts,  as  we  have 
seen,  that  matter  alone  is  at  once  the  thing 
acting,  and  the  thing  acted  upon, —  eternal  in 
duration,  infinitely  various  and  varying  in  ap- 
pearance; never  diminishing  in  quantity,  and 
always  changing  in  fo?m.  Without  some 
knowledge  of  what  is  styled  natural  philoso- 
phy, or  physics,  no  individual  can  attain  this 
conclusion.  And  in  a  certain  stage  of  that 
knowledge,  more  or  less  advanced  according  to 
the  acuteness  of  the  intellect,  it  will  be  impos- 
sible for  any  individual,  not  mentally  obtuse, 
to  shun  that  conclusion.  This  truth  is  one  of 
infinite  importance.  The  moment  we  consid- 
er the  hostility  directed  against  what  is  called 
Atheism,  as  the  natural  result  of  deficient  in- 
formation, the  mind  must  be  diseased  which 
could  resent  that  hostility.  And  perhaps  a 
simple  statement  of  the  truth  would  best  lead 


A   FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  205 

to  examination  of  the  subj€«tj  and  to  the  con- 
version of  mankind.  f^-M  »■?»«  ',^i  bUotr  *trfT-* 
"  Imagine  this  conversioh,  my  friends !  Im- 
agine the  creature  man  in  the  full  exercise  of 
all  his  faculties ;  not  shrinking  from  knowl- 
edge, hut  eager  in  its  pursuit ;  not  bending  the 
knee  of  adulation  to  visionary  beings  armed 
by  fear  for  his  destruction,  but  standing  erect 
in  calm  contemplation  of  the  beautiful  face  of 
nature ;  discarding  prejudice,  and  admitting 
truth  without  fear  of  consequences ;  acknowl- 
edging no  judge  but  reason,  no  censor  but  that 
in  his  own  breast!  Thus  considered,  he  is 
transformed  into  the  god  of  his  present  idola- 
try, or  rather  into  a  far  nobler  being,  possessing 
all  the  attributes  consistent  with  virtue  and 
reason,  and  none  opposed  to  either.  How 
great  a  contrast  with  his  actual  state !  His 
best  faculties  dormant ;  his  judgment  unawak- 
ened  within  him;  his  very  senses  misem- 
ployed ;  all  his  energies  misdirected ;  trem- 
bling before  the  coinage  of  his  own  idle  fancy ; 
seeing  over  all  creation  a  hand  of  tyranny  ex- 
tended ;  and  instead  of  following  virtue,  wor- 
shipping power !  Monstrous  creation  of  ignor- 
ance !  monstrous  degradation  of  the  noblest  of 
known  existences  !  Man,  boasting  of  superior 
reason,  of  moral  discrimination,  imagines  a 
being  at  once  unjust,  cruel,  and  inconsistent ; 


206  A   FEW   DAYS    IN   ATHENS. 

theii  kissing  the  dust,  calls  himself  its  slave  ! 
*  This  world  is,'  says  the  Theist,  '  therefore  it 
"w^'as  made '  —  By  whom?  —  '  By  a  being  more 
powerful  than  I.'  Grant  this  infantine  reason- 
ing, what  follows  as  the  conclusion  7  '  That 
we  must  fear  him,'  says  the  Theist.  —  And 
why  1  Is  his  power  directed  against  our  hap- 
piness? Does  your  god  amuse  himself  by 
awakening  the  terrors  of  more  helpless  beings? 
Fear  him  then  indeed  we  may ;  and,  let  our 
conduct  be  what  it  will,  fear  him  we  imist. 
'  He  is  good  as  well  as  powerful,'  says  the 
Theist ;  *  therefore  the  object  of  love.'  —  How 
do  we  ascertain  his  goodness  ?  I  see  indeed  a 
beautiful  and  curious  world  ;  but  I  see  it  full 
of  moral  evils,  and  presenting  many  physical 
imperfections.  Is  he  all-powerful?  perfect 
good  or  perfect  evil  might  exist.  Is  he  all- 
powerful  a7id  all-good?  perfect  good  Trnist 
exist.  Of  the  sentient  beings  comprised  in  the 
infinity  of  matter  I  know  but  those  which  I 
behold.  I  set  no  limits  to  the  number  of  those 
which  I  behold  not ;  no  bounds  to  their  power. 
One  or  many,  may  have  given  directions  to 
the  elementary  atoms,  and  may  have  fashioned 
this  earth  as  the  potter  fashions  its  clay. 
Beings  possessing  such  power  may  exist,  and 
may  have  exercised  it.  ^^-powerful  still  they 
are  not,  or  being  so,  they  are  wicked  :  evil  ex- 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN   ATHENS.  207 

ists.  I  know  not  what  mai/  be  —  but  this  my 
moral  sense  tells  me  cannot  be  —  a  fashioner 
of  the  world  I  inhabit,  in  his  nature  all-good 
and  all-powerful.  I  see  yet  another  impossi- 
bility ;  a  fashioner  of  this  world  in  his  nature 
all  good  and  fore-knowing.  Granting  the 
possibility  of  the  attributes,  their  united  exist- 
ence wete  an  impossible  supposition  in  the 
architect  of  our  earth.' 

'  Let  us  accord  his  goodness,  the  most  pleas- 
ing and  valuable  attribute.  Your  god  is  then 
the  object  of  our  love,  and  of  our  pity.  t)f 
our  love,  because  being  benevolent  in  his  own 
nature,  he  must  have  intended  to  produce  hap- 
piness in  forming  ours ;  of  our  pity,  because 
we  see  that  he  has  failed  in  his  intention.  I 
cannot  conceive  a  condition  more  unfortunate 
than  that  of  a  deity  contemplating  this  world 
of  his  creation.  Is  he  the  author  of  some  — 
say,  of  much  happiness  7  of  what  untold  mis- 
ery is  he  equally  the  author  7  1  cannot  con- 
ceive a  being  more  desperately  —  more  hope- 
lessly wretched  than  that  we  have  now  pictur- 
ed. The  worst  of  human  miseries  shrink  into 
comparative  insignificancy  before  those  of  their 
author.  How  must  every  sigh  drawn  from  the 
bosom  of  man  rend  the  heart  of  his  god ! 
How  must  every  violence  committed  on  earth 
convulse  the  peace  of  heaven  !  unable  to  alter 


208  A    FEW    DAYS   IN   ATHENS. 

what  he  had  fashioned,  how  must  he  equally 
curse  his  power  and  his  impotence  !  And,  in 
bewaiUng  our  existence,  how  must  he  burn  to 
annihilate  his  own  ! 

"  We  will  now  suppose  his  power  without 
limit;  and  his  knowledge  extending  to  the  fu- 
ture, as  to  the  past.  How  monstrous  the  con- 
ception !  What  demon  drawn  from  the  fe- 
vered brain  of  insanity,  ever  surpassed  this 
deity  in  malignity  !  Able  to  make  perfection, 
he  hath  sown  through  all  nature  the  seed  of 
evil.  The  lion  pursues  the  lamb  ;  the  vulture, 
in  his  rage,  tears  the  dove  from  her  nest. 
Man,  the  universal  enemy,  triumphs  even  in 
the  sufferings  of  his  fellow-beings;  in  their 
pain  finds  his  own  joy ;  in  their  loss,  his  gain ; 
in  the  frenzy  of  his  violence,  working  out  his 
own  destruction ;  in  the  folly  of  his  ignorance 
cursing  his  own  race,  and  blessing  its  cruel 
author !  Your  deity  is  the  author  of  evil,  and 
you  call  him  good;  the  inventor  of  misery, 
and  you  call  him  happy !  What  virtuous 
mind  shall  yield  homage  to  such  ar  Being  1 
Who  shall  say,  that  homage,  if  rendered,  de- 
grades not  the  worshipper  ?  Or,  who  shall  say, 
that  homage,  when  rendered,  shall  pacify  the 
idol?  Will  abjectness  in  the  slave  ensure 
mercy  in  the  tyrant?  Or,  if  it  should,  my 
friends,  which  of  us  would  be  the  abject  ?   Are 


A   FEW   DAYS   Hi  ATHENS.  20^ 

men  found  bold  to  resist  earthly  oppression, 
and  shall  they  bow  before  injustice,  because 
she  speak  from  Heaven  1  Does  the  name  of 
Harmodius  inspire  our  songs  7  Do  crowns  of 
laurel  bind  the  temples  of  Aristogition?  Let 
our  courage  rise  higher  than  theirs,  my  friends ; 
and,  if  worthy  of  ambition,  our  fame  !  De- 
throne, not  the  tyrant  of  Athens,  but  the  tyrant 
of  the  earth !  — not  the  oppressor  of  Athenians, 
but  the  Oppressor  of  mankind  !  Stand  forth  f 
Stand  erect !  Say  to  this  god,  '  if  you  made 
us  in  malice,  we  will  not  worship  you  in  fear. 
We  will  judge  of  you  by  your  works :  and 
judge  your  works  with  our  reason.  If  evil 
pervade  them,  you  are  chargeable  with  it,  as 
their  author.  We  care  not  to  conciliate  your 
injustice,  any  more  than  to  strive  with  your 
power.  We  judge  of  the  future  from  the  past. 
And  as  you  have  disposed  of  us  in  this  world,, 
so,  if  it  please  you  to  continue  our  being,  must 
you  dispose  of  us  in  another.  It  would  be 
idle  to  strive  with  Omnipotence,  or  to  provide 
against  the  decrees  of  Omniscience.  We  will 
not  torment  ourselves  by  imagining  your  inten- 
tions ;  nor  debase  ourselves  by  expostulations. 
Should  you  punish,  in  us,  the  evil  you  have 
made,  you  will  punish  it  as  unjustly  as  you 
made  it  maliciously.    Should  you  reward  in 


210  A  FEW   DAYS   IN  ATHENS. 

US  the  good,  you  will  reward  it  absurdly,  as  it 
was  equally  your  work,  and  not  ours.' 

"  Let  us  now  concede  in  argument  the  union 
of  all  the  enumerated  attributes.  Let  us  ac- 
cord the  existence  of  a  being  perfect  in  good- 
ness, wisdom,  and  power,  who  shall  have 
made  all  things  by  his  volition,  and  decreed  all 
occurrences  in  his  wisdom.  Such  a  being 
must  command  our  admiration  and  approval : 
he  can  command  no  more.  As  he  is  good  and 
wise,  he  fs  superior  to  all  praise ;  as  he  is  great 
and  happy,  he  is  independent  of  all  praise. 
As  he  is  the  author  of  our  happiness,  he  has 
ensured  our  love ;  but  as  he  is  our  creator,  he 
may  command  from  us  no  duties.  Supposing 
a  god,  all  duties  rest  with  him.  If  he  has 
made  us,  he  is  bound  to  make  us  happy ;  and 
failing  in  the  duty,  he  must  be  an  object  of 
just  abhorrence  to  all  his  sentient  creation. 
Kindness  received  must  necessarily  inspire 
affection.  This  kindness,  in  a  divine  creator, 
as  in  an  earthly  parent,  is  a  solemn  duty,  —  a 
sacred  obligation,  —  the  non-performance  of 
which  were  the  most  atrocious  of  crimes. 
When  performed,  love  from  the  creature,  as 
from  the  child,  is  a  necessary  consequence,  and 
an  all-sufScient  reward. 

''Allowing  then  to  the  Theist  his  god,  we 
stand  to  him  in  no  relation  that  can  inspire 


A   FEW   DAYS   IN  ATHENS.     ,  ,'  211 

fear,  or  involve  duty.  He  can  give  us  no  hap- 
piness that  he  was  not  bound  to  bestow :  he 
can  cherish  us  with  no  tenderness,  that  he  was 
not  bound  to  yield.  It  is  for  him  to  gratify  all 
our  desires,  —  or,  if  they  be  erroneous,  to  cor- 
rect them.  It  is  for  us  to  demand  every  good 
in  his  power  to  grant,  or  in  ours  to  enjoy.  Let 
then,  the  theologist  banish  fear  and  duty  from 
his  creed.  It  is  love  —  love  alone  that  can  be 
claimed  by  gods  or  yielded  by  men.  -^  a^j^nntf^ 

'•'  Have  we  said  enough?  Surely  the  absur- 
dity of  all  the  doctrines  of  religion,  and  the 
iniquity  of  many,  are  sufficiently  evident.  To 
fear  a  being  on  account  of  his  po\^ier,  is  degrad- 
ing ;  to  fear  him  if  he  be  good,  ridiculous. 
Prove  to  us  his  existence ;  and  prove  to  us  his 
perfections ;  prove  to  us  his  parental  care ; 
love  springs  up  in  our  bosoms,  and  repays  his 
boimty.  If  he  care  not  to  show  us  his  exist- 
ence, he  desires  not  the  payment  of  our  love, 
and  finds  in  the  contemplation  of  his  owji 
works,  their  reward.  ( ( 

"But,  says  the  Theist,  his  existence  is  evi- 
dent—  and,  not  to  acknowledge  it,  a  crime. 
It  is  not  so  to  me,  my  friends.  I  see  no  sufii- 
cient  evidence  of  his  existence ;  and  to  reason 
of  its  possibility,  I  hold  to  be  an  idle  specula- 
tion. To  doubt  that  which  is  evident  is  not  in 
our  power.     To  believe  that  which  is  not  evi- 


3'l2  A   FEW   DAYS  IN  ATHENS. 

dent,  is  equally  impossible  to  us.  Theist ! 
thou  makest  of  thy  god  a  being  more  weak, 
more  silly  than  thyself.  He  punisheth  as  a 
crime  the  doubt  of  his  existence !  ,Why,  then, 
let  him  declare  his  existence,  and  we  doubt  no 
more.  Should  the  wandering  tribes  of  Scythia 
doubt  the  existence  of  Epicurus,  should  Epi- 
curus be  angry  ?  What  vanity  —  what  absur- 
dity —  what  silliness,  oh  !  Theist !  do  ye  not 
suppose  in  your  god  I  Let  him  exist,  this  god, 
in  all  the  perfection  of  a  poet's  imagery ;  I  lift 
to  him  a  forehead  assured  and  serene.  *  I  see 
thfte,  oh !  God  !  in  thy  power,  and  admire 
thee :  I  see  thee  in  thy  goodness,  and  approve 
thee.  SvLCh.  homage  only  is  worthy  of  thee  to 
receive,  and  of  me  to  render.'  And  what  does 
he  reply  1  '  Thou  art  right,  creature  of  my 
fashioning !  Thou  canst  not  add  nor  take 
away  from  the  sum  of  my  felicity.  I  made 
thee  to  enjoy  thy  own,  not  to  wonder  at  mine. 
I  have  placed  thee  amid  objects  of  desire,  I 
have  given  thee  means  of  enjoyment.  Enjoy, 
then !  Be  happy !  It  was  for  that  I  made 
thee." 

"  Harken,  then,  my  children!  harken  to 
your  teacher !  Let  it  be  a  god  or  a  philosopher 
who  speaks,  the  injunction  is  the  same :  En- 
Joy,  and  be  happy !  Is  life  short  ?  It  is  an 
evil :     But  render  life  happy,  its  shortness  is 


i.   FEW    DAYS    IN   ATHENS.  213 

the  only  evil.  I  call  to  you,  as,  if  he  exist, 
God  must  call  to  you  from  heaven :  Enjoy, 
and  be  happy !  Do  you  doubt  the  way  1  Let 
Epicurus  be  your  guide.  The  source  of  every 
enjoyment  is  within  yourselves.  Good  and 
evil  lie  before  you.  The  good  is  —  all  which 
can  yield  you  pleasure :  the  evil  —  what  must 
bring  you  pain.  Here  is  no  paradox,  no  dark 
saying,  no  moral  hid  in  fables. 

"  We  have  considered  the  unsound  fabric  of 
religion.  It  remains  to  consider  that,  equally 
unsound,  of  morals.  The  virtue  of  man  is 
false  as  his  faith.  What  folly  invented, 
knavery  supports.  Let  us  arise  in  our 
strength,  examine,  judge,  and  be  free !  " 

The  teacher  here  paused.  The  crowd  stood, 
as  if  yet  listening.  "  At  a  convenient  season, 
my  children,  we  will  examine  farther  into  ^he 
nature  of  man  and  the  science  of  life." 

THE  END. 


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'.tAil 


^-^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALI^R^U^lSfiARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

rZ QC^4ST?COLL]^  llBRARY 

L^  This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Ra  D  COL  LI  a 

MAY  151970 

frEC'D  COJ. 

HSCHARGE-UR> 

FEB  ^  2  1980 

BGPll  80  RECCL 


i/a 
1970 


UCLA-College  Ubrary 

PR  4525  D25f  1850 


L  005  775  378  2 


COLLE 
LIB 

PR 

1851 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A    001  161  187    8 


